


Kryptonite is Overrated

by YouMayKnowMeAsAngel



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: ALSO this is sort of soulmate/destiny whatever, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Blood, F/F, J.P. and Mattie and Papa Hollis are also in this, LaFontaine needs a break, Minor Violence, Secret Identity, Time Travelling Lesbians, Yeah you read that right, also a bit of the devil wears prada, also i really want carmilla to wear spandex/leather, and by a bit I mean a lot, don't look at me, i love the internet, identity mixup woo hooooooo, it's part of the plot ok, just an AU, just cuz, like a whoooole lot, like for real, like this is purely for my own enjoyment, not DC or Marvel, nothing too gorey, that's an actual tag, usual injuries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2018-09-18 18:30:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 50,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9397661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouMayKnowMeAsAngel/pseuds/YouMayKnowMeAsAngel
Summary: When Superman needed a secret identity, he became Clark Kent, a mild-mannered newspaper reporter. When Spiderman needed a secret identity, he became Peter Parker, a mild-mannered teenager. When the Red Bandit needed a secret identity, she became Laura Hollis, an overworked assistant for the worst woman on the face of the planet.But with giant mutant lizards, vampire worshiping cultists, and time travelling romantic destinies, Carmilla Karnstein might be the least of Laura Hollis' problems.Or perhaps the worst.





	1. Coffee Run

Silas City, despite its small population of 300,000, is widely known as the capital of the superhero industry. In order to support this industry, skyscrapers and official buildings can be found in great abundance. The residents are happy, when they're not being attacked by the current villain-of-the-week. While it's not exactly the safest place in the world to live, it's certainly the most aesthetically pleasing. The designs of the buildings, streets, and public parks are lovely, and bring much joy. There's an old rumor circulating that the city was designed by a future-seer, which would explain why all the buildings remain relatively intact after every superhuman battle. It is widely agreed that Silas is a wonderful place to live. Beautiful sights, gorgeous architecture, and a thriving populace.

All this, and Laura is staring down into a sewer.

"Would someone care to explain why this is necessary?" Laura asks, wincing at the sharp stench wafting up from the pothole she's about to enter.

"This is where the tracker signal leads. We need a sample, and this is the only—"

"Wasn't really looking for a logical answer," Laura interrupts J.P., eyeing the ladder warily.

"Relax, Hollis. It can't be that bad," LaFontaine says, always one to poke at something until they get the desired result.

Laura starts to lower herself down the ladder gingerly, hating how her nose stubbornly refuses to get used to the stench. "You can't smell what I'm smelling. And what have I said about using my name over dispatch?"

"Not to, but come on. Nobody's gonna hack into the comms with J.P. on the lookout."

"While I appreciate the compliment, discretion is key. We should avoid using our actual names if we wish to stay under the proverbial radar," J.P. says.

Laura smirks. "You hear that? We have to use our code names, _Tweedledum."_

"Whatever you say, _Red Bandit,"_ LaFontaine shoots back.

Laura makes a face. "Ugh. One day, I'm going to find that incompetent, unimaginative reporter who came up with that name and dangle him from the top of the Karnstein building."

"Um, no, you won't. We made a deal stating you would warn me when you turn villain."

 _"If_ I turn villain."

 _"When_ you turn villain. No self-respecting superhero runs around Silas with a name like Red Bandit."

"Why do you let them use the communicator?" Laura asks J.P. while LaFontaine cackles at their own humor.

"Because I'm a weak, weak man. I'll admit that," J.P. sighs.

"Aw, no one blames you, Tweedledee. I bribe him with Perry's—sorry, _Pear's_ —brownies."

"It's true. I would feel bad, but her brownies are just so—"

"Uh, guys? Can we get back to the matter at hand? Sewers? Imminent danger?" Laura peers into the darkness and takes a hesitant step forward. She knows her location, but finding the tracker and its carrier means she will have to be able to see where she's going, especially while walking next to a flowing river of sewage.

"Alright, concentrating on the sewers. Hey, keep on the lookout for turtle mutates wielding katanas and pizza," LaFontaine chirps.

"Turtle mutates? I thought we were tracking lizard mutates. And why would they be wielding pizza?"

` Laura smiles as she pulls out her flashlight. Despite being a tech genius, J.P. has practically zero knowledge of modern-day pop culture. Nobody questions it.

"I'll explain when you're older," LaFontaine mutters. "Just focus on locating the lizard men."

J.P. lets out an exasperated huff. "For the last time, they are _not_ lizard men! They're bipedal, reptilian humanoids—"

"Yes, I'm a biologist, I know the scientific term. They're still lizard men. You can't take that away from me."

Laura decidedly ignores their bickering and gets back to the task at hand. She shines her flashlight around the tunnel-like walls of the sewer, holding her nose with her other hand. There's a dry maintenance path next to the liquid sewage, and Laura is grateful for that. She slowly makes her way through the tunnel system, looking for any signs of giant lizard men.

Four months ago, Laura wouldn't be stuck in a sewer searching for lizard people. She would still be up above, dealing with simple bank robberies and house fires and purse snatchers. She had been happy with that. A bit bored, but satisfied with the work she was doing. Then, the big super villains of Silas collectively decided to up their game a little. The powered ones became more active and destructive, and the non-powered villains seemed to simultaneously start researching biological mutations in order to create giant scary monsters. Every superhero in the city knows that something big is coming, but they're all so busy battling their arch-nemeses to actually think about the problem. Laura's still a rookie in some aspects, so she has yet to score an arch-nemesis. (Not that she, you know, _wants_ one. It would just be nice to know that she's respected enough in the superhero community to have someone obsessed with destroying her.) In the meantime, Laura, LaFontaine, J.P., and Perry have all been working nonstop during their free time to try and solve smaller bits of the mystery. Laura does the grunt work, LaFontaine is the jolly mad scientist, J.P. is the tech genius, and Perry bakes brownies and frets over everyone. They make a good team.

They've decided to focus on the giant lizard pack problem that's been terrorizing the lower east side. Laura ran into one of the beasts yesterday, and managed to inject a tracking device into its skin. If she can get a blood sample for LaFontaine to analyze, that might bring them one step closer to figuring out who's behind all of this. Whomever it is, Laura suspects it's someone who's watched way too many superhero movies, if the "lizard men in the sewers" situation hints at anything.

Something catches Laura's eye, and she focuses her light on three long claw marks splitting the stone wall. They're about five feet off the ground, and they cut deep.

"Guys," Laura says into the comm, interrupting the still ongoing argument over scientific terminology. "You might want to look at this. Is the camera picking it up?"

There's a slight scuffling noise, and then J.P. says, "Yes, just let me zoom in…"

"Woah. Those look fresh. Hold still, I'm going to take some pictures," LaFontaine says, their excitement causing their voice to shake a bit.

Laura remains facing the gashes in the wall, though she wishes she could turn her head to make sure nothing was about to attack her from behind. The lizard men have sharp teeth and claws, not to mention jaws powerful enough to snap a human femur in half.

"Your heart rate is increasing by a significant amount. Is everything alright?" J.P. asks.

Laura sighs and tries to shake off her fear. "Yes, I'm just a bit nervous."

"Don't be. You have faced these things before."

"Yeah, but I don't know what's waiting for me. It could be one, or ten, or twenty." Laura turns her light towards the dark tunnel ahead, sure that LaFontaine has gotten enough pictures.

"No matter what, you are sufficiently prepared."

"Yeah, you've got your awesome powers and fighting skills, remember? Not to mention _we're_ on your side," LaFontain chimes in.

Laura smiles despite her nerves. "Right. How could I forget my awesome tech support?"

"Hey! Who're you calling tech support?!"

"I believe she's calling _us_ tech support."

"Thanks, J.P."

Laura laughs. "Goodness me, what on earth would your girlfriend say if she heard you use such a tone?"

"Excuse you, she's not my girlfriend."

"To whom is she referring?" J.P. asks.

"Pear. Pear and I are just friends."

"Oh. Have I been mistaken, then? I had only assumed that—"

"Seriously?! Why does everyone keep assuming things?!"

Laura goes back to ignoring her communicator when she comes across more gashes. These are located higher on the wall, though they seem older than the last ones. That could mean that the lizards have been here for a while, which could also mean that whoever created them might have planned this out.

Things are getting complicated. Laura groans. "Why am I doing this? Why am I down here?"

"Don't ask me. I'm just the tech support," LaFontaine grumbles, clearly pouting.

"I am sure she didn't mean to insult you."

"Oh really? Was I supposed to take it as a complim—"

"Guys. I think I found the nest," Laura says softly. She's shining her light into a side tunnel covered in claw marks and bones.

"Proceed with caution," LaFontaine orders, seamlessly shifting from joking to attack-mode.

Laura slowly steps forward, her senses on high alert. She passes what looks like a feeding area, and has to look away before she starts to gag. She hopes whatever that bloody mess used to be died quickly. The rest of the tunnel is coated in a shiny slime, perhaps mucus. She should probably get a sample of that too.

"Can you detect anything?" J.P. asks. Laura can hear him typing madly away at his keyboard, no doubt scanning everything the camera is picking up.

"I can't sense anything humanoid," Laura mutters, careful to keep her voice down.

"Can you sense anything living? Anything at all?"

Laura concentrates for a moment. "Yes, but they're too small to be lizard men. Rats, most likely. Am I near the tracker?"

"Yes. You're very close." J.P. hums under his breath, something he does when he's frustrated. "This does not make sense. The tracker's still active, they should be nearby. You should be able to detect them."

"She could be overstimulated down there. It's happened before," LaFontaine offers.

"No, it's not that. I really can't detect any large living organisms." Laura takes a few more steps forward, shining her light everywhere. She sighs. "Maybe the tracker's faulty—"

"There is nothing wrong with the tracker," J.P. snaps. LaFontaine snorts. "It's still active, which means it's attached to _something_ down there."

"Alright," Laura says, moving further into the tunnel. "But if I get ambushed by giant lizards, you're paying for my monument."

"I can see it now. _Here lies Red Bandit, whose remains were found floating in a river of poo."_

"I wasn't talking to you, Tweedledum."

"I'm just joking. Everyone knows you'll probably die at the hands of your boss."

Laura shudders. "Could we, like, _never_ mention that woman over dispatch? I like to pretend she doesn't exist when I'm not acting as her personal slave. Besides, speaking of the devil only provokes hell."

"Agreed," LaFontaine and J.P. both say at once, each having their own special reason to hate and fear Laura's boss.

The further Laura moves into the side tunnel, the creepier it gets. The walls start to narrow down towards each other so that she has to crouch to keep moving, and after awhile she can smell the unmistakable coppery tang of blood. It's strong enough that it overwhelms the stench of the sewer sludge. She can no longer see any slashes on the walls, but even with her flashlight it's hard to make out anything. There's a faint dripping noise up ahead, and its echo sounds rather ominous.

It's not until Laura's boot splashes into a large, thick, _warm_ puddle that she realizes something. She can't see anymore gashes on the walls because the walls are covered in blood.

"Holy Hogwarts," Laura breathes, shining her flashlight around her and trying not to hyperventilate. There's blood dripping down from the ceiling, oozing all over every surface, and pooling in puddles at her feet. Laura has never seen this much blood in one place before. "Guys," she says into the comm once she's caught her breath. "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

"Unfortunately, yes," J.P. says, his voice sounding rather shaky. He's not so good with blood. "That definitely looks…fresh."

"Do you know whose blood that is?" LaFontaine asks.

Laura closely examines the wall to her right. "I'm not sure. It could be the lizards', it could be one of their meals. I don't know."

"Well, it can't hurt to get a sample."

"Right," Laura says, and starts to take a vial out of her pocket. Something flashes in the corner of her eye, and she whirls around, expecting an attack. Instead, she finds a glowing green light. Realizing what it is, she moves forward. "Tweedledee?"

"….Hey, boy genius. She's talking to you."

"What? Oh. Right. Yes?"

"Your tracker. Am I approaching it?"

"Um, yes. Yes, you are. You're very close to it, actually."

When she reaches the tracker, Laura realizes that it's been taped to the wall, next to a blood splattered piece of paper. She carefully peels the tracker off the wall and examines it. It doesn't look damaged. She moves to inspect the paper, only to discover that it's a note written in slanted cursive.

_Dear Red Bandit,_

_Cleaned up your mess for you. You're welcome._

_—The Countess_

"Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me!" Laura exclaims, crumpling the paper up in her fist. "How did she get here before me?!"

"Wait, what? What was that? Who's…The Countess?" J.P. asks. LaFontaine snorts, and then tries to cover it up with a cough.

Laura scowls, looking wildly around the tunnel for more notes. "She's only the most annoying, presumptuous, self-entitled, ridiculous, overly flirtatious superhero in existence!" Laura kicks at a stray bone lying next to her foot. "Whenever I try to investigate something big, she always, _always,_ manages to get there first and leave me stupid little ' _you're welcome'_ notes, as if I'm supposed to be thankful that she—"

"She's the one that wears a corset," LaFontaine says in a bored tone, having heard this rant before.

"Oh! With all the leather? She's been leaving the notes?" J.P. sounds somewhat impressed.

"Yup."

Laura mutters darkly under her breath as she gathers the blood samples. "The Countess. What kind of a name is that, anyways? A stupid name, that's what. Leave it to her to have a name that sounds like something a fifteen-year-old poet enthusiast made up."

LaFontaine lets out a low whistle. "Wow. If I didn't know any better, I would say you're harboring a crush for her."

Laura splutters despite herself, nearly dropping the vial of lizard blood. "What? A crush?! I don't—are you serious?!"

"I thought she had a crush on that Summer Society girl," J.P. says, much to Laura's horror.

"Oh yeah. The redhead, right? What was her name?"

"I don't think they have names. There's too many of them. The Society's a large organization. I think it might even stretch internationally."

"Are you two done?" Laura sighs.

"That depends," LaFontaine hums thoughtfully. "Do you want to leave a note for her? Maybe start a pen pal exchange?"

"If you don't shut up right now, so help me, I will tell Pear what really happened to her pet gerbil."

A long pause.

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

Another long pause.

"Fine. You win. No more talking about your squishy crushes."

Laura sighs. "Thank you."

"The gerbil incident wasn't even my fault."

"Yes, it was," Laura and J.P. both say at once.

"Ok, so maybe it was a _little_ bit my fault, but if little miss Cleans-A-Lot hadn't put the kerosine next to the cage, I wouldn't have been inspired to—" LaFontain's voice suddenly cuts off.

"I turned off their mic," J.P. deadpans.

Laura starts to make her way out of the tunnel, careful not to step in anymore blood puddles. "Wait, are they not at your place?"

"No, they're at Miss. Perry— _Pear's_ —apartment. Something about helping with a giant birthday party cupcake delivery?"

Laura frowns. "Cupcake delivery?" That doesn't sound right. Perry had been stressing over that birthday party for weeks. She shouldn't be delivering anything until…

A horrible thought crosses Laura's mind. "J.P.?" she exclaims, forgetting to use his codename. "What day of the week is it?!"

"Uh, I believe it is a Thursday?"

"Oh my god!" Laura's sprinting down the tunnel before she realizes her legs are moving. She starts to go through a mental checklist, trying to calculate how much time she has left before—

"What's happening?! Is something wrong?!" J.P. shouts in her ear.

"It's _Thursday!"_ Laura groans with as much conviction as she can manage. She's sprinting and praying she doesn't fall into the river of sewage, though that might be a more friendly fate than what she will experience if she's late.

"Yes, it is a Thursday! What is so important about Thursday?"

Laura has reached the ladder now. As she climbs it, she imagines the Kill Bill siren blaring through the sewer tunnels. "Thursday's are important because she schedules _meetings_ on Thursdays, which means she wants a large black coffee and some pretentious French pastry from that stupid little place behind the taxi depot—"

"Ooh, _Marie's?_ That shop is quite expensive."

"I _know!"_ Somehow, Laura has made it out of sewers and into the open. There's minimal traffic, and the few people out and about hardly glance at her as she rushes by. The one good thing about Silas' jaded citizens is their complete disregard of super-powered weirdoes running through the streets. She sprints towards the wall of a laundromat and yanks a small device off her utility belt. "I'm going to try the grappling hook!"

J.P. squeaks into the mic. "You have that with you?! It failed almost all of its tests in the lab!"

"You said almost! Almost is good!"

"Almost is the opposite of good! It is not good! I refuse to be responsible for your death-by-grappling hook!"

"You can't convince me it's worse than death-by-Karnstein!" Laura shouts. She aims the device and fires over J.P.'s protests. It hooks to a corner of the laundromat roof and sticks. With a quick pull on the trigger, it yanks her up onto to the roof. Perhaps the yanking is a bit quicker than Laura had expected, and perhaps her shoulder feels funny now, but it's fine because she's on the roof. It's good. Everything's good. She's yelping in pain as she locks her shoulder back into its socket. It's all GOOD _._

J.P.'s voice has reached a dangerously high pitch. "I heard that popping noise! You have injured yourself—"

Laura turns off her comm before he can scold her about the dangers of failing to test her equipment. She has a breakfast delivery to…deliver.

:

:

:

"Coffee for Karnstein! _Move it!"_

As per usual, the K-word works its magic, and men and women scatter as Laura barrels her way towards the elevator. She's running as fast as she can in her sensible work shoes, but she can see the metal doors closing in front of the panicked faces of its occupants.

"No!" she shouts when they close just before she reaches it. There's only one other elevator in the whole building, and Laura's been banned from using it since the St. Patrick's Day incident last year. The stairs are her only option.

Every step she takes is followed by a curse directed at the superhero gods for not giving her super stamina. She's already winded from the dash to the pastry shop and then to the office, not to mention her port-a-potty outfit change from hero to business casual.

"Oh sure, Clark Kent gets the luxury of a friggin' phone booth while I get to change next to a big ol' pot of poop," she grumbles to herself between gasps for air, having finally reached the top floor. She pushes against the door with her shoulder—her _bad_ shoulder—but it won't budge because of course it won't. Laura keeps pushing and pushing because super strength is yet another power she does not have. Each push becomes more and more personal as she beings to insult the integrity of this door, and then of all doors in general, and the door must take offense to this because it suddenly opens and Laura tumbles forward with a great shout.

Thankfully, someone catches her before she hits the floor. Her savior's one of the IT goons, the quiet girl with the glasses.

"Thanks, Chel!" Laura chirps as she releases herself from the surprisingly strong pair of arms enveloping her.

The girl blinks at her from behind big glasses, looking a bit struck. "Um, actually, it's Mel."

"Yeah, thanks, gotta go!" Laura calls over her shoulder, already power walking through the workspace. The top floor is the usual beehive of activity, but everyone automatically speeds up once they spy her. When Laura moves fast, it could only mean one thing.

 _"She's entered the building!"_ One of the interns hisses at her.

Mass panic. People rush to their desks, papers go flying, and everyone moves the _fuck_ out of Laura's way because she is running at a full sprint now. The office is at the far back of the room. She has about two minutes.

Laura dives between the two desks which sit outside the office. One's for her, the other's for Kirsch. The She Devil likes to keep her minions close. Kirsch stands up from his seat when he sees her coming, his eyes wide with fear. He starts to say something, but Laura beats him to it.

"I know I'm late prepare _yourselfshe'scoming!"_

Kirsch lets out a sound that may or may not be a whimper but Laura is crashing through the door of the office and doesn't have time to think about it. She rushes across the plush carpeting to the minibar, and yanks open the cabinets above to get to the plates. Laura then remembers that she is short, so she grabs a chair to stand on

Her senses give a little jolt. Karnstein's elevator has arrived.

Laura leaps off the chair and scrambles her way to the giant desk, which looks more like a black marble slab than an actual work space. She places the plate in the exact same spot she always does, and dumps the pastry out of its bag. After that, she makes a desperate break for the door. Kirsch proves to be the best person ever when he opens it for her, and Laura has enough time to swipe her hair out of her face and click her heels together before Carmilla Karnstein is sashaying towards her.

Despite the utter loathing and contempt Laura feels towards this woman, she can't help but admire the control she has over every room she enters. Her walk is more like a glide as she makes her way through the desks. Those brave enough to wish her a good morning do so in awed murmurs, their eyes wide. The rest simply lower their heads.

She's wearing a skin-tight black dress today, and if Laura knew anything about fashion she would be able to appreciate it's subtle refinement. Even so, she can tell that it has a very pleasing affect. The leather streaking up the sides of her thighs brings one's attention to her hips, and though her neckline does not show much cleavage, it's certainly enough to draw the eye. A gold necklace rests on her collarbone, a single emerald stone glinting in the light. Sunglasses cover the top half of her face, and her black hair is tousled in such a way that it gives off an effortless sense of dishevelment.

Laura's smile turns rather strained the closer she gets.

"Good morning, Ms. Karnstein," both her and Kirsch say in practiced unison.

As usual, Karnstein pretends not to hear. She takes Laura's offered coffee cup, and snaps her fingers at Kirsch while she takes a long pull from it.

"Today you have seven meetings scheduled, four of which concern Captain Dynamite," Kirsch responds immediately. "Most of the problems seem to be about—"

Ms. Karnstein holds up a pale hand, and Kirsch shuts his mouth immediately. She turns her head towards Laura, who knows what's coming. She braces herself.

"What, pray tell, is this?" Karnstein asks, her voice low and gravely.

"Your usual drink order, Ms. Karnstein."

"It's lukewarm."

Laura's blood runs cold. Here we go again. "Is it?"

With a slow, fluid movement, Karnstein takes off her glasses and fixes Laura with an unimpressed stare. "Are you asking me whether or not my coffee is lukewarm, after I just informed you of the fact?"

Laura holds the gaze without flinching. "Of course not, Ms. Karnstein. If you'd like, I could warm it up by rubbing my hands together?" She offers sarcastically.

The entire floor falls silent. Laura suppresses the urge to roll her eyes.

Karnstein stares at her for a moment longer, then lets a long breath out through her nose. She puts her sunglasses back on and opens the door to her private office. "You would be wise to remind yourself that your looks will only get you so far with me, cupcake," she mutters, disinterest dripping from every word.

Laura can feel her cheeks flush in anger, but she keeps the smile on her face until the door closes. Then she allows herself to aim a silent scream at the ceiling.

Kirsch winces in sympathy. "What took you so long?" He asks.

Laura stomps her way over to her desk, and sits with a loud huff. "I was dealing with a plumbing issue."

"Oh, is that why you smell like that?"

If that had come from anyone else, Laura would throw her stapler at them. But Kirsch is her only ally in this place, and if he ever says something mean it's usually unwittingly. The guy's hopelessly honest, to the point of naivety.

Now that the adrenaline has run its course, Laura can feel a dull ache in her shoulder. The pain isn't distracting, but there's a small twinge whenever she moves it too much. She rolls it several times and winces, wishing for the billionth time that she could use her powers on herself.

"Something wrong?"

Laura jumps with a small yelp, banging her knees on the underside of her desk. Danny Lawrence is standing to her right, somehow having snuck past Laura's senses. She's dressed smartly in a lime green blazer and striped shirt, her bright red hair pulled up into a bun.

Laura just smiles at her until she realizes she's been asked a question. "What? Oh, right, yes. I'm fine. I just…slept on my shoulder weird."

Danny frowns. "You sure? You haven't been overworking yourself again, have you?"

"No! Of course not! I hardly work at all," Laura jokes. As if on cue, a man marches up to her desk and plops down a stack of papers.

"Signatures," he grunts before moving away.

Laura lets out a small sigh. Getting Karnstein to sign anything is always an adventure in itself.

Danny seems to agree with her. She makes a face while she studies the stack of papers. "What are those even for?"

Laura shrugs and gets up from her desk. She needs to find the good pens from storage. She should have her own, but they keep mysteriously disappearing. "They're just the usual drivel," she explains. "Kirsch knows more about the paperwork than I do."

"Really?" Danny asks, shooting an incredulous look over at Krisch's desk. He's currently trying to balance a coffee mug on his nose.

Laura smiles in understanding. "You'd be surprised." She gestures for Danny to follow her as she makes her way to the storage closet at the other end of the room. "So, Danny, what can I do ya' for?" Danny raises an eyebrow, and Laura blushes. "Um, not do you as in _do you,_ but as in a favor. A nonsexual favor." _Oh my god,_ she mouths to herself as she turns away.

Thankfully, Danny seems to find her pathetic attempts at conversation amusing. "Priscilla wants to check on the summer cover, make sure it's going in the right direction," she says with a small smile.

"Priscilla wants to check on a cover? That can't be good."

"That's why she sent me. Apparently, I'm the most pleasant to deal with."

"That you are," Laura agrees, and then blushes again. God, what is it with her and redheads? First that Summer Society girl and now Danny, she better get a hold of herself before she starts getting flustered around Perry and LaF.

But Danny just smiles brightly at her. "That's high praise, coming from Ms. Assistant to the Boss."

Laura snorts and dodges a woman rushing to the printer. "Please. Anyone seems pleasant after dealing with _her_ all day long."

Danny laughs. "Right. God, it's hard to remember you've only been working here a year."

Laura can only agree. When she first applied to _Capes and Masks,_ it had been a joke. LaF had suggested she might as well work for the magazine that specializes in superhero fashion if she insisted on creating her own costumes. Laura had done it out of spite. She never imagined she would actually be called in for an interview.

While Karnstein is the boss of the magazine and oversees everything, she's not the owner. Her mother, a powerful woman whom Laura has never actually seen, built the name from the ground up many years ago. Laura had applied during a time when Karnstein couldn't keep a female assistant for more than a week. Rumor has it she sleeps with them, and after all the sexual remarks the woman has thrown her way, Laura has no problem believing that. Laura wasn't exactly looking for an assistant gig at the time, but it paid good, and she was promised a golden recommendation when she finally gets a foot in the door of the journalism business. Plus, it provides her with a good source of superhero information. She knows almost all the dirt on the heroes sponsored by _Capes and Masks,_ and you never know when intel like that will come in handy.

So, Laura grits her teeth and puts up with the worst of the worst. On her first day of work, Karnstein had spent a good twenty minutes making snide comments about her "stifling optimism," then handed her a stack of papers the size of Laura's torso to be filed by noon. Laura knew that the crazy woman was just trying to get rid of her, but spite is a wonderful motivator. She finished the task by ten, and delivered herself to Karnstein's desk with a pleasant smile.

"Anything else you need, Ms. Karnstein?" Cue self-satisfied smile.

Karnstein looked up at her from underneath her dark bangs, and for one half second, a flicker of surprise flashed over her face. Then her expression quickly turned to stone, and she ordered Laura away to learn her way around the building. Laura left feeling as though she'd won the first battle.

Of course, things only got worse from there. Karnstein seems to have made a personal goal to inconvenience Laura in every possible way. Anything she needs _right now_ will be found on the highest shelf, messages to the bottom floors need to be delivered in person, and specific days call for specific brands of the most expensive pastries and coffee Silas has to offer. (The one time Laura brought Starbucks, she barely escaped the confrontation with her life.)

Despite the constant bullshit, Laura is nothing but resilient. She dishes out as much as Karnstein does. Their sarcastic bickering is always at the forefront of office gossip, and has inspired many a rumor over the past year. According to Janice from human resources, Laura and Karnstein are having wild hate sex after hours. Jimmy from media networking disagrees; Laura and Karnstein have quickies throughout the day in order to compensate for the fights. Kirsch keeps Laura informed on all the news involving her rampant sex life. It makes for good small talk when the work day is dragging along.

If it wasn't for Kirsch and Danny, Laura wouldn't have survived this past year at the magazine. Danny works for Priscilla Rodriguez, another powerful woman in the superhero fashion industry. Her company, _Cutthroat,_ specializes in weaponizing outfits. Laura and LaF drool over her designs, but only the sponsored heroes get the gear. The heroes with money. Laura is significantly lacking in that department.

Danny is the go-between with Karnstein and Rodriguez. They both can't stand each other, but Danny is a diplomatic person who is willing to put up with _so much crap._ Though Karnstein seems to hate her for unknown reasons, she always listens to Danny's remarks and instructions.

"So, what are Priscilla's concerns about the summer cover?" Laura asks. She yanks on the door handle of the supply closet, but it doesn't budge. She yanks a few more times before Danny gently moves her hand out of the way and opens it with an easy pull. Laura grumbles out a thanks.

"Well, we are featuring blade wielding heroes, and she's not sure the mountain theme compliments the designs."

Laura nods and looks around for that little bucket of pens she left in here last week. "Yeah, I can see why she might think that."

Danny notices the hesitation. "But…?" She invites.

Laura offers her a sheepish smile over her shoulder. _"Buuuuut_ it's Karnstein's cover, and she believes mountain ranges are the perfect fit. Brings out the coldness of the blade, or something."

Danny lets out a huff and leans against the doorframe, her long arms crossing over her chest. "Rodriguez feels as though blades should be personal, up close and intimately dangerous. Not paired with wide open spaces and cold weather."

Laura considers her options as she grabs a handful of pens and hurries out of the supply closet. "Ok, here's the thing," she tells Danny while power-walking back towards her desk. "Karnstein is really set on those mountain scenes, and she has the backing of all the other designers. Plus, today is a busy day for her, meeting-wise." She glances over at Danny, who already looks resigned to giving her boss a poor report. Laura hesitates a moment longer, then sighs. "What the hell, I'll get you an audience with her majesty."

Danny's face brightens instantly. "Really? Could you? I don't want you to get into trouble—"

"Danny, it's my job. You got a problem, I can fix it." Laura raises her head high, proud of herself for proving she's not a useless blushing idiot. Of course, that's exactly when someone walks away from their desk and straight into her path, causing her to backpedal and trip over her own feet. Now, Laura isn't completely clumsy. But, in the name of keeping her identity a secret, she has to act a little more uncoordinated than usual. So, down she goes, and Danny is so surprised that she fails to catch her.

Laura lays sprawled out on the floor. She sends a thank you to her past self for deciding to wear tights under her skirt today. She blinks her eyes open to find Danny leaning over her. "Hello."

"Hello yourself," Danny says, amused despite her obvious concern. "You really should look where you're going. You're gonna get hurt one of these days."

Kirsch's face appears next to Danny's. "Laura! Are you okay?!"

Laura struggles to her feet, waving off a few helpful offers from the others. Danny still manages to put an arm around her shoulders to make sure she's steady. Laura refuses to allow her heart to stutter at that. "I'm fine, seriously, it's good. This happens all the time."

It really does. Laura's small, and most people don't see her until after they've knocked her down. The rest of the top floor isn't paying much attention to them, and everyone moves and works around them without so much as a sideways glance. Danny leads Laura back to her desk despite her protests. She gives Laura a wary look as she sits down.

"You sure you're alright? That was a pretty hard fall."

Laura shoves the pens into her empty coffee mug with a little more force than necessary, embarrassed at having fallen in front of Danny. Again. If J.P. wasn't so convinced that someone would recognize her if she showed the slightest hint of functional coordination, she wouldn't have to deal with situations like this.

"Danny, honestly, I'm fine."

"Really? How's your shoulder? I noticed you rolling it earlier."

"Did you? I suppose you've been here for quite some time, Ms. Lawrence."

Laura's head snaps up in surprise. Karnstein is standing in front of Laura's desk, her sunglasses off and her dark eyes focussed on Danny. This is the second time someone has snuck past Laura's senses today. She should check in with LaF later to make sure nothing's wrong.

Danny shows no sign of surprise, and merely offers Karnstein a dry smile. "I haven't been here long, Ms. Karnstein."

Karnstein hums, looking her up and down. "Still, my assistants should have informed me of your presence."

Laura rolls her eyes. Karnstein notices, but doesn't say anything.

Danny's smile remains fixed on her face. "Your assistants have names, you know."

Karnstein cocks her head to one side. "I'm aware of that, just as I am aware you are taking up my time by informing me of this. What is it that you want?"

"I'm here on Ms. Rodriquez's behalf."

"Obviously," Karnstein drawls.

Laura finally speaks up. "Ms. Lawrence wishes to speak with you about the theme for the summer cover. Mrs. Rodriguez has some concerns."

Karnstein sighs. "Of course she does." She turns to Kirsch. "You, Calvin Klein reject, what's my schedule look like?"

Kirsch frantically pulls something up on his tablet. "Uh, you have fifteen minutes available after your 12:30."

"Perfect." Karnstein turns and gives Danny a bored look. "I'll see you then. You don't mind waiting?"

Danny shakes her head. "No, of course not."

Ok, Laura _really_ doesn't like the way they're smiling at each other. She's pretty sure someone's about to go for someone else's jugular, so she stands up and snaps her fingers at one of the interns. "You! Please direct Ms. Lawrence to a more comfortable waiting area. I believe Trish brought muffins in this morning, treat her to those."

The intern blinks at her with wide, fearful eyes. He looks at Karnstein and Danny, visibly swallows, and mutters, "Right this way, Ms. Lawrence."

Danny holds eye contact with Karnstein for a moment longer before bowing her head. "Ms. Karnstein." She turns towards Laura and offers her a softer smile. "Laura. Would you mind meeting me for coffee after work? We never have the chance to talk these days."

And all of a sudden Laura is a stammering mess. "I-I would love—"

"Ms. Holleck already has commitments later today, but I'm sure the two of you would be able to work something out after hours, hmm?" Karnstein interrupts swiftly. She raises an eyebrow, probably trying to goad Danny into talking back.

Danny, being the utter professional she always is, merely nods her head. She sends Laura once last friendly glance before she follows the intern to the elevators. Laura nervously bites her lip as she watches her go. God, she made an entire _fool_ of herself through that whole experience, and LaF is going to give her so much shit about it when she gets home—

"Ms. Horan, are you injured?"

The question catches Laura off guard. She starts and stares at Karnstein blankly. "Uh, what?"

Karnstein narrows her eyes. "The wannabe amazon warrior mentioned your shoulder. Are. You. _Injured?"_

"Erm, no."

"Then I can see no reasonable excuse for why you are sitting there, drooling after Ms. Lawrence. As uneventful as it may be, I would advise for you to keep your romantic life out of this building." The corners of her lips tilt upwards. "Am I making myself clear?"

Laura takes a deep breath and mentally counts all the reasons why it would be a bad idea to stab Karnstein in the face with the pens she just fetched from the supply closet. "Crystal," she says through gritted teeth.

Blood red lips curl into a satisfied smile. "Thank you, Ms. Hollenbeck." She pivots on her heels and closes the door to her private office behind her.

"It's _Hollis!"_ Laura snaps, though she knows it's no use. Karnstein hasn't gotten her name right since her first day. It's definitely on purpose.

Laura plops down in her chair and rubs at her temples. Kirsch gives her a sympathetic look. "You alright?"

Laura practically snarls in response. "Who is she to have any say in my love life? Especially with all those rumors of her sleeping with me, and her past assistants." She points a finger at Kirsch. _"You._ You were working here long before I started, are the rumors true?"

Kirsch's mouth opens and closes several times before answering her. "The rumors?"

"Yes. The one's about her other assistants."

It takes Kirsch exactly three seconds to realize what she's talking about. He leans forward to say something, then seems to think better of saying it out loud and types something on his tablet. Laura's phone buzzes, and she opens a text message which reads:

_rumors are true, she likes assistants_

"So she's a hypocrite!" Laura crows. "I ought to call her out on it."

"No, please don't do that!"

"Why not?"

"Because whenever you're the one who starts the fight, she takes it out on me."

Laura pauses. "And what about when she's the one who starts the fight?"

Kirsch winces apologetically. "Things are…actually pretty good when that happens."

"Of course. Of friggin' course."

:

:

:

It's a pretty busy day for Laura. She's constantly moving throughout the building as she delivers messages, answers phone calls, schedules meetings, and comforts anyone having a panic attack after said meetings. When quitting time rolls around she's tired and achey, and _so_ not looking forward to the long night of sewer lizard research she will inevitably be a part of. J.P. wants her to go on another patrol tonight.

She's heading towards the elevator with Kirsch when the door to Karnstein's office creaks open. "A moment," a voice calls from within.

Laura and Kirsch share a second of solidarity by wincing at each other. Then the hands go flying and the rock paper scissors gods have once again declared Laura the loser. Kirsch pumps his fist in the air and jogs towards the elevator, shooting her a triumphant smile over his shoulder. Laura sticks out her tongue.

"I'm waiting, for some reason. Why am I waiting?"

"Coming, Ms. Karnstein," Laura grumbles. She trudges into Karnstein's office, feeling as though she's entering a dragon's lair.

She might as well be. The lighting's very dim, and the decor's incredibly unsettling. The few paintings which hang on the walls depict images of bloody battles with mythical creatures. The interns have often debated whether or not the skull penholder on Karnstein's desk is an actual skull.

It is in front of this skull that Laura stands, her hands clasped in front of her and her posture straight. Karnstein's eyes flick up from the paper she's reading.

Laura waits.

Karnstein slowly puts down her paper, leans back in her chair, and kicks her bare feet up onto her desk. "You lied to me earlier," she says.

"What? I, um, I don't…" Laura stammers. She hadn't expected this.

Karnstein lets out a soft sigh, her eyes traveling around the room. "Your shoulder. It's injured. You lied to me."

"My shoulder? Oh, no, my shoulder's fine—"

"Lies."

Laura huffs. The corner of Karnstein's mouth twitches.

"If it's _really_ that important to you, ma'am, then yes. I injured my shoulder while fetching your coffee this morning," Laura says, finishing through gritted teeth.

She's not lying. Technically. The grappling hook fiasco had been a part of the coffee run. The door shove probably hadn't helped things, but whatever. It doesn't hurt as much as it did this morning.

Karnstein's dark eyes focus on Laura's shoulder, then slowly travel to her face. "You've been injured a lot lately," she says.

Laura frowns. She senses a trap. "Um, really?"

"Oh yes. Burns, cuts, bruises, the occasional bite mark—"

"My neighbor's dog is teething!" Laura cuts in desperately.

"Not to mention the rather unique stench you've been sporting all of today."

"Cooking fiasco."

"You made an intern faint."

"All of them do that."

Karnstein stares at her. Laura holds her ground and tries to ignore her rising nerves.

"Ms. Holliday, I'm running a magazine. A magazine I do not wish to run, but nevertheless, I have been placed in charge. I meet enough clumsy idiots on a day-to-day basis, so I do not wish to deal with you and your countless injuries." She raises an eyebrow. "Unless, of course, they are of a more passionate nature…?

It takes Laura's brain a moment to catch up. When it does, her entire body immediately cringes. "Oh no. No, _no,_ I don't do any of that sort of…stuff. I mean, I would never partake in such—" Karnstein's other eyebrow raises, and Laura frantically switches tracks. "Not that there's anything _wrong_ with that! As long as all parties are, you know, consenting and understanding their limits, they can…" Laura attempts to pantomime something with her hands, then realizes what she's doing and pins her arms to her sides. She swallows and ends with a jerky nod. "They can do whatever they want. Yes."

It's not too much of a surprise that Karnstein is already laughing. "Sweetheart, I was only teasing!" She snorts and shakes her head. "God knows you've barely moved past missionary."

Uh, _excuse_ me? "Well, not all of us like to bend assistants over desks," Laura snaps without thinking. She freezes a second later, wondering if she's stepped to far.

But Karnstein merely gives her a knowing smirk. "Yes, I suppose that's true." Her expression looks much too smug.

Laura decides she's not up for playing whatever game this is, and slumps into a more relaxed position. "This isn't why you called me in, right?" She sighs.

Karnstein hums a bit and swings her feet off her desk. "Yes. As fun as it is to talk about your limited sexual experience, there's work to be done."

Laura bites her tongue and reminds herself that this job is important. Backhanding the boss across her perfect cheekbones would be bad.

"Designs from the creative team meeting," Karnstein says, sliding a blue binder across the desk towards Laura. "I don't want anyone looking at them until next Tuesday."

Laura picks up the binder. It looks unimportant. "Any reason why you waited until after hours to tell me this?"

Karnstein gives her a pitying smile. "Oh, you poor thing. You actually think that I'm going to explain my actions to you." She lets out a little laugh and bends to pick up her heels.

Laura breathes in through her nose and looks up at the ceiling. _Backhanding the boss would be bad. Backhanding the boss would be bad._

"Besides," Karnstein continues, standing to move away from her desk. "I rather enjoy giving you busy work. Keeps you out of trouble."

"From my understanding, I don't get into much trouble." Laura sneers when Karnstein turns to look at her. "You know, with my _limited sexual experience?"_

Karnstein blinks, then slowly looks her up and down. "Either that, or you're just dull." She brushes past Laura on her way out of her office.

Laura follows a moment later, practically chanting under her breath. _Backhanding the boss would be bad. Backhanding the boss would be satisfactory, but bad._

She stows the small binder in a drawer at her desk, not finding the resolve to care whether or not someone looks at it before Tuesday. Everyone takes fashion so seriously around here. Laura has a hard time viewing it as anything but a joke. It's as if superheroes have created an entire industry outside of crime fighting, producing nothing but distractions and flashy logo advertisements. Yup, that's what everything boils down to in the end. The money. Sponsors all over the world send in millions for big supers to wear capes with a certain company's logo. Since crime fighting doesn't do much in the way of paying the bills, many heroes sign contracts. Then magazines like _Capes and Masks_ offer publicity for those superheroes and companies, and in some cases it can be beneficial. It's easier for some to save the public when the public is on their side. A lot of that trust comes from publicity stunts like personalized interviews, something which _Capes and Masks_ specializes in. But then there's the whole corporate greed side of things, and the strange focus on appearance. Something about it rubs Laura the wrong way.

There's still a few stragglers in the building, working late to keep up with the load. Their eyes flicker up from their computer screens to watch Karnstein strut barefoot across the office floor. Laura follows at her usual Safe Distance: close enough to answer any questions thrown her way, but far enough do dodge any projectiles thrown her way. Most of her reflexive training has come from being Karnstein's assistant.

The elevator ride to the bottom floor is interesting. Laura has long since become immune to Karnstein's aura of Come Near Me And Die, so it's fun to watch how others react to it. Some poor skinny kid from photography joins them on the tenth floor. He does a double take when he notices Karnstein, then immediately turns to try and leave the elevator only to have the doors close in his face. He stays in the same position for the next two floors, standing with the doors inches from his nose, and stumbles over his own feet in his hurry to escape once they open. The woman that's about to enter is a bit quicker on the uptake, and rushes away as if she wasn't just waiting for the elevator.

"Idiots, the lot of them," Karnstein mutters, despite having not looked up from her phone screen the entire time.

Laura holds back a snort.

When they finally reach the bottom floor, Laura makes a point of hurrying out of the elevator. She squeezes past Karnstein and makes a break for the exit. Freedom is within reach. She can practically taste Perry's pre-patrol hot cocoa, the special kind with actual melted chocolate instead of the cheap powdered stuff you see in—

"Harvell."

Laura's feet stop of their own accord, her body automatically responding to the "always there" threat of not answering Karnstein's call. "Yes…?" She responds, drawing out the word as she turns.

Karnstein walks forward until she's inches from Laura's face, who tries not to flinch when she leans in to whisper in her ear: "The next time you walk into my building injured will be the last time you walk into my building, _period._ Understood?"

Laura frowns and takes a step back. "Uh, I don't think that's entirely legal—" She cuts herself off when she realizes who she's talking to. Rules don't apply to the Karnstein empire.

As if reading her mind, Karnstein smiles. "Have a good night, Ms. Harklen." She pushes past Laura and practically struts towards the exit, where a limo is no doubt waiting to take her home.

Laura watches her leave, noting how dark it is outside. Righteous hatred aside, she has to give the woman credit for working so late. Karnstein averages at around eight hour days, minus the extra hours spent on multiple projects, charity stunts, and international meetings.

Not that, you know, she actually _works_ during those eight hours. Most of her time is spent sleeping at her desk or flirting with whatever girl-of-the-month she's seeing. But, she makes appearances, which is all anyone can ask of her.

 _Or rather all anyone is_ capable _of asking her,_ Laura thinks bitterly as she watches the doorman scramble to do his job when he sees Karnstein coming. He's so nervous he closes the door in Laura's face when she walks up.

"Ooh, sorry again, Laura!" The doorman winces down at her. He's a sweet boy. Hopelessly oblivious, but sweet.

Laura smiles through her pain, poking at her nose to make sure it's not broken. "Don't worry, Charlie. Let's just try to make this the last time, right?"

Charlie doesn't look too sure. Laura doesn't blame him. Around here, she's practically invisible.


	2. Hair Pins and Strawberries

"Laura, the more you fight me, the more this is going to hurt!"

"Perry, the funny thing is, _I'm not actually fighting you!"_ Laura snaps.

She can't help it. Perry sucks at first aid. As soon as Laura stepped into the apartment, she'd been grabbed, tousled, manhandled, and practically thrown onto the couch. Laura's always wondered how such a caring person can be so horrible at healing. Of course, Laura immediately feels bad for thinking this when she sees the look on Perry's face. Her blue eyes are watery, and she's doing that weird thing where she bites her lip while it's quivering. Laura holds out for a second longer before sighing and shifting her upper body so that Perry can get a better death-grip on her arm.

"For someone who spent the whole day baking, you sure have cold hands," she grumbles.

"Well. You deserve frigid fingers after the stunt you pulled today," Perry scolds, all trace of hurt gone.

J.P. makes a sound of agreement from the next room.

Laura cranes her neck to look down the hall. "Is he still not speaking to me?"

"You know how he can be when you misuse his tech." Perry brings her face closer to Laura's shoulder as if she'll actually be able to see the rotator cuff if she looks hard enough.

"Oh, come on. What's the point of having a grappling hook if I can't use it in the field?"

There's the distinctive sound of J.P. dropping his coffee mug on his foot.

Perry sighs. "Laura, we only have this technology through special circumstances, and it's still hard to come by. Then there's the issue of your own safety, which you seem intent on ignoring—"

Laura rolls her shoulder out of Perry's grip and scrambles to her feet. "Perry, honestly, I'm fine! I heal faster than the average person anyways." She tries for a winning smile.

"Faster, but not fast enough," Perry retorts, fixing Laura with a knowing look. It lasts about two seconds before she twitches and glances down at her hands in her lap. "Now, I know this boss of yours might seem scary, but getting coffee is not a good enough excuse for—"

"Scary?! Who says she's scary?" Laura attempts to laugh nonchalantly. She ends up choking on her own spit.

Perry stands from the couch and re-stacks the magazines on the coffee table. It's the third time she's done this since Laura's been in the room, which means she's tense. Any second now and she'll make a lunge for the Lysol wipes.

As always, in the face of Perry's nervousness, Laura crumbles. She inches forward and puts a hand on Perry's back. "Look, if it means that much to you, I'll be more careful next time. I won't carry any gear I know isn't ready."

Perry smiles. "Thanks Laura, it really means— _wait a second."_ Her head whips around so fast that her curls smack Laura in the face. "You mean to tell me you knew the grappling hook wasn't ready, and you still attached it to your utility belt?!"

Laura immediately removes her hand and starts to back away. "Uh…sort of?"

Perry's eye twitches. "Care to elaborate?" She asks, her voice reaching a dangerously high pitch.

Luckily for Laura, LaFontaine chooses this moment to burst into the room with a mad grin on their face. "I just finished testing the lizard blood samples!" They crow.

"Really? What did you find?" Laura hurriedly sidesteps Perry, desperate for any distraction.

"Well, I was just going to do a simple cell count, but then I thought, eh, what the hell. I'll throw in a few more coagulation tests if I'm already…" They trail off when they lay eyes on Perry. "What happened to you?"

Perry sniffs and holds her head up in a desperate attempt to maintain her dignity. "Oh, nothing. I just had a small mess with that birthday delivery, that's all."

"You look like the sole survivor of a baking hurricane," LaFontaine says, and Laura has to cover her mouth to keep from laughing. Perry is still wearing her floral apron, though you can barely see the pattern under all the flour. She has sprinkles in her curls, glitter on her neck, and frosting on her face.

"I'm well aware of how I look," she says stiffly.

LaFontaine must notice they're heading towards dangerous territory, because they let the matter drop. "Right. So get this. When I was testing the blood samples I noticed something interesting. The blood clots at a normal speed!"

"Were you expecting it not to?" Laura glances down at the sheet of data LaFontaine is holding.

"Well, duh! The most recent study done on Australian reptiles showed that their blood clotting is rather sluggish."

"How do you know that?"

"How do you not?" LaFontaine gives Laura a look like _she's_ the crazy one.

"I'm sorry, what does this have to do with those giant disgusting lizards?" Perry asks.

LaFontaine visibly twitches. "They're not disgusting."

"Yes, they are! They live in the sewers."

LaFontaine raises their head in an attempt to look down their nose at Perry. It's not very effective from where Laura's standing. "So you're saying if they lived above ground they would be nice and civilized?"

"Well, no, they're still naked, and I'm not sure I'm entirely comfortable—"

"They're a new species, Perr! Can't you see the beauty in that?!"

"All I can see is a bunch of naked scaly things that smell like excrement!"

"You can't compare then to humans, that's what makes them so fascinating!"

"Uh, guys?" Laura raises a hesitant finger in the air. "Are we forgetting the fact that the lizards could potentially, you know, eat people?"

Both LaFontaine and Perry stare at her.

"What's your point?" LaFontaine asks.

For a brief moment, Laura considers her life. She decides trying to apply logic to any current situation would be pretty…illogical

She lets out a weary sigh. "You were saying something about blood clotting?" Laura reminds LaF.

LaFontaine, bless their crazy heart, doesn't notice Laura's utter defeat. "Right! Yes! So, not only does the blood clot at a normal speed, but it clots at a normal _human_ speed!"

Laura winces. That can't be good. "What does that mean, and do I really want to know the answer?"

"Sorry ahead of time," LaFountaine says, not looking apologetic in the slightest.

It's just as well. Whoever said being a superhero was easy? She might as well go in with her metaphorical guns blazing. Laura takes a deep breath and slaps an optimistic smile on her face. "Alright, what's the plan of attack?"

It's no surprise to anyone that the plan is its usual brand of crazy mixed with enough strategy to slightly resemble logic. The pack killed this morning—thanks to the Countess—probably wasn't the only pack of lizard mutants in the city. LaFontaine has a hunch that one of the many mad scientists in the area had a slip-up with an experiment, and accidentally created a race of half-human half-lizards. At least, that would be the best outcome. The more likely cause of all this chaos is a villain who's turning people into lizards and using them for their own nefarious purposes. Now it's up to Laura to do some stealth sleuthing to figure out what these lizards are up to, besides causing mass panic. Laura will sneak back into the abandoned sewer nest to gather a few more samples. From there it's just a matter of finding and following a pack of mutant horrors as they unleash their terror upon the city. All without getting caught, of course. Piece of cake.

LaFontaine convinces J.P. to talk to Laura, at least long enough to prepare her for the mission. He gives her a taser that's packed with enough juice to take out a "small elephant," as well as a distress signal should things turn south. Laura starts to tell him a distress signal would be pretty useless at that point, but she shuts up when he gives her a crazed look. Perry makes herself useful by forcing Laura to eat and stretch. Laura humors her, but draws the line at packing snacks. Perry takes offense to this, and Laura continues to hear about it all the way to the sewers.

"Well, excuse me for trying to get something healthy in your system."

Laura rolls her eyes as she lifts the manhole cover. "I said I was sorry, Pear."

"You'll be sorry when you're suffering from scurvy. Tell me, have you eaten anything this week that wasn't packaged or covered in frosting?"

"Uh, I had a box of raisins last Tuesday?"

"Those were chocolate chips."

"Meh, same thing."

"No, they're really not— _what on earth are you doing?!"_

Laura stops halfway down the sewer ladder. "Is that a trick question?"

"Pear, she's going back into the sewers to get more samples, then she's going to find a lizard pack and follow—"

"I thought she was just going to go _near_ the sewers, not back in them!"

"Whose idea was it to allow Pear to view the live feed?" Laura asks before dropping down into the darkness below.

Both LaF and J.P. mumble sheepishly.

Laura sighs. "Of course."

"Stop it. I have a right to know what's going on, and seeing as I'm the only one with any sense of self-preservation on this so-called team, it's in everyone's best interest that I look over whatever half-cooked scheme you three have—

"Pear, I love you, but you need to be quiet. It's time for me to concentrate."

"Oh. Yes. Sorry."

Laura shuts her eyes and allows the surrounding sewers to overwhelm her senses. The smells and sounds rise to a great crescendo before fading to the back of her mind. Once she's properly focussed, she attempts to seek out any large sources of life, creatures with beating hearts and thought patterns similar to her own. Sensing nothing, she tries again, allowing her mind to sweep through the tunnels. Still darkness. With a deep breath, Laura stretches her search to include smaller living creatures, her mind now searching for any forms of life. Rats reveal themselves to her. Their life forces, usually a dull gray color, are now sparking with yellow currents of fear. Something has scared them, something nearby.

Something powerful.

She concentrates on the life force of one particular rat, and tries to pinpoint the exact reason for its fear. Understanding the feelings of animals is always easier the less intelligent the animal is, though the messages are often based on instinct rather than coherent thought. From the rat, Laura can discern a strong sense of panic, but not much else.

_"Run. Loud. Sharp. Loud. Pain. Run. Run. Big,"_ Laura whispers, voicing what she can understand.

"Uh, Bandit? You still with us?"

Laura opens her eyes slowly, allowing the glow of the life forces to fade away. "Yeah. Sorry. The rats down here are pretty scared."

"Were you able to understand them?" J.P. asks the same time Perry squeaks, _"Rats?!"_

"Somewhat. They're mostly frightened of something loud, sharp, and big. But, it's weird. I can't sense any large life forms down here, just like last time. If the Countess killed all the lizard mutates this morning, what are the rats afraid of?"

"It could just be circumstance," LaF mutters. "Very freaky circumstance."

"Right. And when are we ever that lucky?" Laura pulls out her flashlight. "I'm going to check it out."

"You know, maybe you should—"

"Sorry, can't hear you over me checking this out." Laura shines her light over the walls of the sewer, noting how there doesn't seem to be any new scratches. She makes her way to the lizard nest tunnel with newfound confidence.

"Caution, please. Move slowly," J.P. warns, though he sounds much too interested to be truly wary.

"I don't like this. I don't like this at all," Perry says, her voice slightly muffled. She's probably biting her fingernails. "Can't she convince one of the rats to do this instead?"

"That's not how her powers work," J.P. says patiently.

"Unfortunately," LaFontaine grumbles.

Laura bites her cheek to keep from laughing. LaFontaine has known about Laura's abilities since college, and despite the clear evidence that Laura will never be able to use her powers for "mind control," they continue to see it as a possible goal. Laura has long since abandoned any hope of convincing LaF her powers don't work like that, no matter how hard she tries. J.P. often theorizes that Laura's abilities have more to do with a person's aura than their mind. She can read "on the surface" thoughts as long as they're connected to emotions. The more complex the emotions, the muddier the message.

Of course, if aura reading was all Laura could do, she'd be working as a personal counselor instead of chasing demonic sewer dwelling lizard-people.

"It's very quiet down here," Laura says, just now becoming aware of her rising anxiety. "Something doesn't feel right."

"No, don't say that, nothing good ever happens when you say that."

"Pear, we've got this under control. Why don't you go frost those sugar cookies in the fridge?" LaFontaine suggests. Perry huffs and quiets down, though Laura doubts she's moved away from the screen.

Maybe it's because Laura knows what to expect in the tunnel, but the sewer seems slightly more sinister than it did this morning. There's almost a sense of malice to the silence, as though something big is holding its breath in anticipation. Laura swallows past her fear and moves forward into the nesting tunnel.

She's prepared to see the same blood and gore from this morning, but to her amazement, the tunnel is empty. She freezes in place, shining her flashlight over the walls in a great arch. The scratches are there, proof that she's in the right tunnel, but there's no blood. No bones, no slime, nothing gross. It's all gone.

"Are you guys seeing this?" Laura asks.

"Wait, where are you? Is that the—"

"Yeah, there's no blood."

_"What?"_

"Inspect the walls," J.P. orders. "Is there really no sign of blood?"

"Um," Laura moves closer to one of the walls. "Nope. It's spotless. Well, as spotless as a sewer can be."

"But there's still evidence of scratches. Lizards have been here."

"Or someone's cleaned up after themselves," Laura mutters, moving her light from the wall to the floor.

"Cleaned up? Who?" Perry asks.

"She left me a note this morning, maybe there's something here…" The light reflects off something shiny. "Aha!" Laura bends down and picks up what appears to be a strip of black ribbon. When she swipes the flashlight over it, the light reflects off a shimmery _C_ that's been stitched into the fabric. "The Countess," she says through gritted teeth.

"Are you sure it's her?" J.P. asks.

"Yeah, it looks like her brand. Not very subtle, huh?" LaFontaine sounds bored.

"Do you think she cleaned the tunnel?"

"I'm sure of it," Laura mutters darkly, closing her fist around the ribbon. Teasing notes are one thing, but covering up evidence? _Subterfuge._ Thinking quickly, Laura exits the tunnel and walks purposefully towards the sewer ladder. LaFontaine and J.P. busy themselves by trying to describe the Countess to Perry.

"She's not a hero. At least, she's not listed in the public database," J.P. says.

"But she's not exactly a villain either," LaF adds. "She probably is, but she's never gotten caught."

"True, however, she's somewhat connected to a number of gang disputes and mysterious disappearances. The flair of her fighting style has gained a quiet reputation, but it's unclear what sort of work she does."

LaFontaine snorts. "Duh? She's a hit-man? Assassin for hire."

"Not necessarily. The Summer Society isn't listed in the hero database, but they're still considered heroes."

"The Summers aren't listed in the database because they don't cooperate with law enforcement. They follow their own Artemis code, or whatever."

"The path of Adonis."

"Woah, Pear, how do you know that?"

"One of them came into the shop, remember? She questioned me about some burglaries in the area. Nice girl, bought a carrot cake cupcake."

"Oh, right. She was such a lousy tipper— _WOAH_ hold on a second. Bandit, where are you going?"

"Out," Laura says.

"Right. Like, out of the sewer, or out as in you're going out in the general downtown area and wow okay you are running now. Why are you running?"

Instead of answering, Laura quickens her pace. She sprints to the ladder and grabs at the highest rung she can reach, grateful she's wearing the grip enforced gloves J.P. developed last week. She climbs the ladder in a rush, knowing she has to act quick for her plan to work.

"Is something bad happening? Is someone chasing her?!" Perry asks, already panicking.

"No, I don't believe so. Bandit, what is the reason for this?" J.P. demands. "You clearly have a plan, let us know what it is."

"You'll see in a moment," Laura grits out as she heaves her weight against the manhole cover. Dammit, she should have left it open when she entered the sewer. She's losing time. With a desperate heave, she's able to position the manhole so that she can push it out of the way. She's greeted with fresh air, a dark alley, and a glimpse of a shadowy figure jerking away from the edge of a rooftop.

"Oh, dear," J.P. says quietly. LaF swears. Laura grabs her grappling hook.

No shoulder dislocation this time. J.P. had been making adjustments to the device all day, and his hard work's apparent in the easy ride Laura takes to the rooftop. There's no one waiting for her, but something dark and lithe is climbing up the wall of a nearby sushi bar. Laura runs for the edge of the rooftop.

"Don't jump!" Perry cries.

"She's gonna jump," LaFontaine deadpans.

Laura doesn't jump, thank you very much. She _leaps_ from one roof to the next, softening her landing with a somersault. That maneuver saves time, but doesn't do her shoulder any favors.

"Watch it," J.P. hisses when Laura tries the exact same move with the next building, and nearly rolls off the edge.

"I'm fine," she snaps, breathing hard.

_"On your left!"_

Laura dodges the dart easily. She figures it was more of a warning shot. She picks up her pace.

"Drop down into the second alleyway and you can cut her off at the sex toy store," LaFontaine says, talking about as fast as Laura's moving.

"Got it." Laura practically dives for a fire escape, swinging her way down the bars using a technique her dad taught her in the eighth grade. She hits the ground and bolts out into the streets, dodging passerby's who hardly give her a second glance. Laura heads for the back of the sex toy shop LaF mentioned, following a hunch. She pulls out the taser.

The Countess drops in front of Laura and immediately tries to jab something in her neck. Laura instinctively blocks the assault with one hand, and holds up the taser with the other. "Don't make me use this," she hisses.

The woman hesitates. Then, in a flurry of movement that's almost too quick for Laura to catch, the Countess flings an arm out to one side and sends something flying.

Laura's head jerks around to find a destroyed security camera with a wicked looking knife sticking out of it. She swallows. She's probably about to die.

When she looks back at the Countess, she's surprised to see the woman has taken a few steps away from Laura. Not out of range of the taser, but she's within an easy dodging distance. Laura suddenly realizes they're both blocked from street view. The back alley of the sex store is nestled a secluded corner; no cameras, no people, no witnesses. For some reason, the idea's more thrilling than scary.

The last time Laura had gotten a good look at the Countess, she was following a lead on a small drug trafficking ring. They crossed paths for all of thirty seconds, and her costume is just as ridiculous now as it was back then. Most of her body is covered with some sort of black, skintight material, though Laura's hesitant to call it latex. It gleams in the dark, almost as if it were made out of tiny metal plates. On top of this, the Countess is wearing a lace covered corset. It's a completely unnecessary addition to a costume that's already pretty foolish, but for some reason Laura can't stop _staring_ at it. It's so gaudy and strange and hugs her curves and oh yeah that's why.

As is customary, the Countess is wearing a mask. It's an expensive looking masquerade piece that probably comes directly from Italy. It's a deep red color with black and silver swirls stitched into the design. It takes Laura a moment to realize the eyeholes are covered in mesh.

"She's a bit much, isn't she?" Perry whispers in Laura's ear.

"So I've been told," the Countess says with a wry smile. Perry squeaks in alarm.

Laura immediately mutes her communicator. If the Countess has super hearing, she can't risk the safety of her friends. She doesn't trust this woman not to track down the voices in Laura's ear.

"I have some questions for you," Laura says, grasping the taser with both hands.

The Countess cocks her head to one side. "That outfit. Did you make it yourself?"

"I—What?"

She shrugs. "It's durable, I'll give you that, but some of your pockets are uneven."

Laura fights the urge to inspect her pants."You…you were waiting to watch me leave the sewer. Why?"

"I wanted to be sure you got my message. Is that an actual utility belt?" The Countess says, moving from one topic to the next with no pause.

Laura feels a bit embarrassed. She doesn't know why. The belt is useful, and it's not like she's got some stupid, narcissistic symbol on it. What right does the Countess have to judge her outfit when the woman's literally fighting crime in a corset?

Probably reading her thoughts, the Countess' smile grows, and she takes one step forward. Laura glances down at her feet, half expecting to see stilettos. She's somewhat surprised by the durable looking, lightweight combat boots.

"My eyes are up here," she says, and Laura fights the urge to pull the trigger on the taser. Just 'cus.

"You were the one that cleaned the sewer," Laura says, fighting for the upper hand in this conversation.

The Countess slowly lifts her hand to pluck a hair pin out of her intricately woven mass of dark curls. "Yes," she says, inspecting the pin as if it's the most interesting thing about this situation. "If we're going to state the obvious, you look like a knock-off Kim Possible. With a mask."

Really, nobody would blame her if she used the taser on this woman. LaF and J.P. would be on board. Perry might need some convincing. Besides, there's nothing _wrong_ with styling her costume after Kim Possible. The maroon cargo pants are durable.

"Why did you clean the sewer?" Laura grits out. "Were you disposing of evidence?"

The Countess shrugs.

"Are you involved with the lizards?"

"Am I—oh, dear gods above. You're just too much, Bandit." She lets out a little laugh that may or may not cause Laura to flinch. "I happen to be in the same position as you, only two steps ahead." She pauses. "Perhaps ten steps ahead. I have all the information I need. There's no need for you to carry on."

"Right, like I'm going to believe that. You're not a superhero." Laura feels as though someone should say it at some point.

The Countess stares at her. "So?"

Laura's stumped for a moment. "So…well, what reason do you have for, uh, looking into this? Is someone paying you?"

The Countess clicks her tongue. "Time's up. No more questions."

"What?"

"You heard me. I've given you more than enough answers for your insipid little investigative work." She takes several steps forward. Laura stands her ground. "Consider this a warning, Bandit. Stick to petty crime. Muggings, burglary, volunteer work. Make the world a better place." She leans in, her pale chin right above the taser. "If you ignore this sound advice, I can't say I can guarantee your own safety. Or the safety of your friends."

Laura's blood runs cold, then hot. "Is that a threat?"

The Countess scoffs. "Weren't you listening? This is a warning, a wake up call." She straightens, her lips still frozen in that mocking little smile. "Pay attention."

Laura sees the attack coming a second before it happens. She dodges the blow to her gut and fires the taser. Well, she tries to fire the taser. It's knocked out of her hands at superhuman speed. When she goes to deliver a punch to the face, she hits nothing but air. A strong arm wraps around her neck, hauling Laura back with a surprising amount of force. She feels a quick, stinging pain in her neck, and instantly begins to panic.

"Shh," the Countess whispers in her ear, easily stifling Laura's struggles. "That was nothing dangerous, see?" She holds the hair pin in front of Laura's face. "Just a little something to get you out of my hair for a few, crucial minutes. Relax."

As she's talking, Laura's vision starts to blur. She tries to fight, but her movements become sluggish as her body grows numb. It's not long before she's leaning back against her attacker, allowing the Countess to support her weight.

"There we go," a voice murmurs through the fog. "Just rest. Close your eyes, there's a good girl."

A cool hand touches her cheek, brushing back a strand of hair. The world goes dark.

:

:

:

"A hair pin."

Laura lowers her head as she pulls her blankets tight around her shoulders, doing her best to avoid Perry's eyes.

"You were defeated by a _hair pin."_

"It's actually a rather ingenious little contraption, much like that voice modifier the Countess was using," LaF pipes up from behind Perry. "I wouldn't say that—"

_"I don't care what you would say,"_ Perry snaps. LaF immediately falls silent.

In a flurry of angry movement, Perry grabs yet another blanket and throws it in the general direction of the couch. Laura had only been unconscious in that alleyway for around seven minutes, but Perry's insistent on treating her like a hypothermic invalid.

"Sure, let's go confront the dangerous lady in black. All alone, no backup, no forewarning, let's just dive right in and hope we don't get killed," Perry rants as she searches for more blankets.

"She appears to be muttering again," J.P. whispers.

"I am not!"

"You kinda are—"

"Don't start with me, Laura Hollis!" Perry whirls on her. "You have me worried _sick_ whenever you go out, and then to see you do dumb things like this?!"

"That was necessary," Laura insists. "She was going to get away."

"She was dangerous!"

"Well, what did you want me to do? Abandon ship and let her escape?"

"Yes!" Perry cries. "Live to fight another day!"

"I did!" Laura gets to her feet, letting the blankets fall off her shoulders and onto the floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices J.P. step behind LaF. "I'm not dead! Shouldn't that be a good thing?!"

"When the only thing you have to boast about is the fact that you haven't died, no, it's not a good thing," Perry throws back.

Laura laughs. "I'm used to it! I've been doing this since college. My methods haven't changed since then."

Perry shakes her head, stepping around the couch so she's standing in front of Laura. "In college, we were up against drunken frat boys and rowdy pot heads! Now there's lizards, and _sewers,_ and crazy ladies who put poison in their hair pins."

"Yeah, welcome to the real world, Perry," Laura says, perhaps a bit too harshly. "Just because you weren't prepared for this doesn't mean I'm going to give up. I'm more than capable of handling whatever's thrown my way, and I'm getting pretty tired of everyone underestimating me! I appreciate your concern, but every warning you give me is one more thing that's holding me back!"

The room's quiet. Laura's still seething, so she doesn't quite see the affect of her words until Perry leaves the room. The anger dissipates as quickly as it came. Laura's left wondering why she was shouting, why she got so upset. She doesn't argue with Perry. She's never had any reason to.

"Wow," J.P. whispers. Laura turns to find LaF glaring at her.

"Why the hell would you say she's holding you back?"

"She wants me to stop," Laura says, but it's weak.

"You're going in there and apologizing."

"And what about you? Your complaints have always been similar."

LaFontaine rolls their eyes. "Yeah, but I don't yell them in her face. And neither do you." They give her a pointed look.

Laura looks towards the kitchen, where Perry's probably hiding. "Yeah."

"I believe Perry would appreciate you speaking with her," J.P. says, peeking at Laura from around LaF's shoulders.

As if waiting for her cue, Perry sniffs loudly in the next room. Laura winces. She gives J.P. and LaF a nod, and moves to open the door. Behind her, LaFontaine starts telling J.P. that machines and dead specimens are much better than people.

Just as predicted, Perry's in the kitchen, pulling out a huge mixing bowl. She doesn't look up when Laura comes in, but focuses on placing the bowl on the counter next to a jar of powdered sugar. When Laura notices a box of strawberries, she begins to worry. Perry only makes cheesecake when she's truly upset.

"Perry?" She begins hesitantly.

"I know the three of you are worried about me. I don't contribute much," Perry says, still not looking at Laura. "I'm overbearing, and controlling, and much too scared to deal with any of this stuff."

Laura frowns. "That's not true. You're one of the bravest people I know."

Perry lets out a high-pitched laugh. "Don't lie to me, Laura Hollis. I'm constantly shaking in my boots whenever anything happens around here."

"Yeah, but, you stay," Laura says. She moves forward to stand next to Perry. After a moment's pause, she unboxes the strawberries and begins to pick off the stems. "When I was younger, my dad used to say to me that true bravery is being scared, being utterly terrified, but still standing your ground and doing what's right. We should always be fearful, but as soon as we allow that fear to control us, we've lost." She pushes the stems into a little pile, noticing how hard Perry is listening. "I've never seen you back down from anything."

Perry's silent. Laura notices a strange twinkle in her eye, as if she's remembering a great secret. "When I was small," she says, her voice barely above a whisper, "I used to dream that I was magical. You know, we'd hear all these superhero stories on the news, and I loved it. I wanted to fly."

Laura stares at her. She's never heard this before. "You wanted to be a superhero?"

"Oh, yes. More than anything."

"What changed?"

Perry shrugs, and reaches for a knife to cut the strawberries. "I didn't get powers, first of all. That took forever for me to accept, that I was normal. LaFontaine was there to help me. At first." She sliced into a strawberry with a surprising amount of force. "When we went off to college, they started to draw away from me. They started to discover themselves, and apparently, that process didn't involve me. Well, it did, but I was too blind to see it."

Laura wouldn't dare speak now, though the speed at which Perry is cutting is getting a bit scary.

"This was before I knew you. If you had met me back then, I probably would have frightened you off. I was a bit obsessed with superheroes. I followed all the news, subscribed to the magazines, bought practically all the merchandise…" She snorted. "And then someone attacked my school."

_"What?!"_ Laura cries. She'd attended the same, strange little northern university as LaF, Perry, and J.P.. As far as she knows, there hadn't been any attacks.

Perry nods. "It was a year before you arrived. An unknown super villain entered the school. She called herself a fairy queen, like Titania from _A Midsummer Night's Dream?_ She kept turning boys into donkeys." She pauses, then smiles a bit. "That part was funny. But then she held my dorm hostage."

"Dear Merlin," Laura whispers.

Perry pauses in her cutting. "That's a Harry Potter reference, isn't it?"

"Uh, maybe."

"Huh."

"You were saying?"

"Oh. Yes. She held my dorm hostage, and invited us to join her army, to help her take over the world. It was crazy, her plan didn't make sense, but she offered to give us powers." Perry shrugs, not meeting Laura's eyes. "And, well, I considered it. I considered joining."

"What stopped you?"

"Finals. I figured all that studying would go to waste if I took part in destroying the world. Oh, and I didn't want to leave my best friend behind."

Laura wonders if LaF knows about this. They probably do, but the story sounds like ancient history. LaFontaine only likes to talk about the past if it fits the situation.

Perry slides the strawberry slices into a bowl with a quick flick of her knife. "We were held hostage for two hours. It became increasingly more obvious that the so-called fairy queen was hiding from the campus police after the wreckage she caused, and came up with the army recruitment excuse in order to appear in control. It was terrifying. I kept expecting a superhero to arrive."

"Did one?"

"No, no one did," Perry says matter-of-factly, tearing open a tub of cream cheese. "Eventually, the fairy queen got scared and surrendered to the authorities. It was all very anti-climatic. Later it was announced that she had planned to sacrifice lives to an ancient vampiric goddess, or something equally unimaginative and psychotic."

Laura can only gape at Perry. "Why on earth didn't I hear about this?! I went to the same school!"

"Well, I suppose things can get lost in the grapevine," Perry says with little sigh. "Trust me, it wasn't big news. There were more important things going on at the time. Like the Super Bowl. Oh, and The Bachelor that year was pretty exciting."

Laura stares at her.

Perry smiles. "I'm kidding. The college hushed it up. The attacker was apparently an alumni, class of '94. No one wanted to talk about it, it was so bizarre. Even I shied away from the topic for years." She starts to spoon the cheese into a mixing bowl. "Of course, I was still realizing I could have died. LaFontaine and I grew closer afterwards. Near death experiences will do that."

"I'll bet," Laura whispers.

"After that, I just became more cautious about, well, everything. I wanted nothing to do with superheroes." She throws Laura a smile. "Then you came along."

"But you didn't know I had powers at first."

Perry considers that. "No, I guess not. I'm still getting used to it."

Laura studies her for a moment. If she were to take a peek at Perry's life force, she'd expect to see dark green pulses of sorrow. "Something else happened during the hostage crisis, right?" She asks hesitantly.

Perry doesn't stop moving, but her motions become much more wooden and focussed. There's a slight pause before she answers. "During the crisis, there was a girl who tried to fight back. She…she picked up a chair and threw it. The fairy queen deflected it, and the chair flew back." She swallows. "She didn't move, the girl, and there was blood. Lots of it. We thought…" Perry trails off, then turns to Laura. "She wasn't. Dead, I mean. She recovered. But I saw her get hit with that chair, I saw her body go limp and powerless, against this god-like being."

Laura nods.

"I just thought, wow. No one deserves to have that much power over anyone. And then I kept thinking about LaFontaine and whether or not they were safe, and who else was hurt, and…"

Perry falls silent. She's nowhere near tears, but Laura can sense hysteria on the horizon, so she helps where she can. Perry accepts her offered hug and squeezes tight, engulfing Laura in her curls.

"I just want all of you to be safe," Perry whispers. "Is that too much to ask? For everyone to be safe?"

Laura squeezes back, trying not to focus on the familiarity of the conversation. She digs deep, and repeats what she once told her dad. "Sometimes, safety doesn't get anything done. Boundaries need to be pushed."

Perry sniffs.

Laura pulls away to look her in the eyes. "But the important thing is that I'm safe now. We all are. We made it out." She smiles. "It's time to lick our wounds and plan for tomorrow."

Perry sniffs again, and tries for a watery smile. "You mean lick _your_ wounds?"

"Exactly!" Laura pats Perry on the shoulder. "Here, let me show you the one I got on my elbow when I screwed up that summersault."

"Laura."

"See? All ripe for the licking. I can't reach it myself, of course."

"Very funny."

"And then there's this bruise I have on my stomach, think you can lick that?"

"Laura— _Laura,_ pull down your shirt!"

"Why? Aren'tcha gonna lick it?"

"No!" Perry cries, but she's laughing, and trying to hold Laura back. "You're being ridiculous!"

"See, you say that, but you're still not licking my bruise. I'm _injured,_ Perry."

Laura continues to crowd Perry up against the counter, lifting her shirt over her head and demanding that her wounds be licked good and proper. This is the scene LaFontaine and J.P. find when they enter the kitchen.

J.P. clears his throat. "What is…what."

"Yeah, I don't know. And I don't care," LaF says.

"I have a bruise on my belly," Laura tells them.

"As if that offers any explanation."

"She needs to lick it."

"Wow. You should stop talking now."

"Noted." Laura pulls down her shirt.

LaF turns to Perry. "You okay?" They look as though they want to offer comfort, but don't quite know how to proceed. They wind up leaning forward a bit and staring. Laura shares a look with J.P.

Perry nods, flashing a quick grin. "Yes, I'm fine. For now, at least."

LaFontaine doesn't seem to buy it. "Do you want to talk? Just me and you?"

Laura shares yet another look with J.P.. It's obvious that LaF _really_ wants to talk about what just happened, probably in private, but Perry doesn't seem to catch on. Or, if she does, she avoids the issue. She shakes her head, gives LaF a reassuring pat on the shoulder, and goes back to preparing the cheesecake. LaF stands there a moment, then moves to help, their expression blank.

J.P. raises his eyebrows at Laura. _Should we say something…?_

Laura gives him a small, imperceptible shake of her head. Another problem for another day.

:

:

:

Laura usually works through her lunch breaks at _Capes and Masks._ Not out of choice, but more out of a sense of self preservation. However, today she manages to squeeze fifteen minutes out of her schedule to chat with Kirsch in one of the break rooms. He's not much of a conversationalist, but he's a fantastic listener. At the moment, Laura is ranting about the Silas police force.

"I mean, it's as if they're a hive mind! Have you ever tried talking to one of them? They all speak in the exact same voice. It's eery."

Kirsch shrugs. He's currently trying to fish a carrot chunk out of his thermos of soup. "They don't look the same."

Laura nods, rapping her fork against the table. "True, that's certainly true. They all range in size in age. But I swear, I once had a conversation with a meter maid at a coffee shop on the upper east side, and two months later, an entirely different cop attempted to continue the conversation where we had left off. It's no wonder superheroes are the primary source of law enforcement in this city," she finishes with a flourish, tossing her fork in the air for Kirsch to catch.

He does so without looking up from his soup, and uses the fork to spear a carrot chunk. "I mean, that's good, right? To have a big superhero population?"

Laura laughs. "Well, obviously. We'd both be out a job if that wasn't the case. But we can't fully rely on superheroes. Most of them are self-trained, even if they're registered."

Kirsh munches on his carrot as he thinks it over. "Yeah, but what sort of cop's gonna have laser eyes?" He points the fork at her with a triumphant smile. "Laser eyes are awesome."

Laura rolls her eyes, but smiles back. "You're so predictable."

"I know. It's what women like about me."

_"Psst!"_ A voice hisses from the door. Laura turns around to find an intern staring at them both with wide eyes. "You two might want to get to Karnstein. Like, _now."_

Laura and Kirsch share a look, then quickly put down their food and race out into the hall. People who see them coming quickly move out of the way, or more accurately, out of Kirsch's way. His broad shoulders and tall frame act as an excellent crowd parter. All Laura has to do is stay close. They turn a corner, pass the elevators, and skid to a halt in front of the familiar row of desks. Sparing a moment to tuck in ties and straighten skirts, they power walk briskly down the aisle. Karnstein hates running.

When they reach the door to her office, they have a silent conversation wherein it's agreed it would be better if they entered together, as a unit. Kirsch takes a deep breath, summons a rather painful looking smile, and opens the door for both of them.

Karnstein's at her desk, looking over the blue binder Laura had hidden for her yesterday. Laura doesn't recall ever retrieving the binder, but that's not too much of a surprise. What is a surprise is the woman perched on the end of the desk, one leg crossed over the other underneath a short red skirt. Like Karnstein, she's recognizable on sight.

_"Mattie,"_ Laura mutters under her breath. Kirsh's spine immediately straightens.

Mattie Karnstein, otherwise known as brains behind the Karnstein empire, is herald throughout the world as an absolute fashion genius. She holds court primarily in Paris, and only comes to Silas when she wants to visit her "precious little sister". If Carmilla's a terror to work under, Mattie's the true horror of all mortal men. Like her sister, she's absolutely stunning, but there are obvious differences between the two. While Carmilla's aloof, Mattie's sharp. While Carmilla's constantly amused, Mattie's plotting her next move. While Carmilla remains untouchable, Mattie's out for blood.

Laura has never been in the same room as Mattie for more than thirty seconds. She's seen her in passing, has followed a few quick orders, but she's always been too distracted by whatever it is Carmilla wants her to do. Now that she's standing in this room with both of the Karnsteins, all of Laura's senses are on edge. There's great emotional power here between them. Something about the relationship feels ancient, and the weight of it bears down on Laura's shoulders. She hastily attempts to focus on the physical world.

"Dearest, you couldn't be more wrong," Mattie says. She taps a sharpened, manicured nail against a page in the binder. "The base of the collection is symmetry. The power behind sharp lines."

Carmilla hums to herself, and runs a hand through her hair and over her scalp. "Yes, but why sacrifice maneuverability? Functionality should remain."

"Then tweak it. Should be simple enough."

Then, something truly terrifying happens. Carmilla smiles. It's not mocking, or teasing, or amused; it's an honest to god smile. Her entire face changes, lights up, and Laura can't help the little flutter of her heart.

She coughs. Carmilla looks up. Laura and Kirsch freeze.

"What are you doing here?" Carmilla asks, her smile vanishing as if it never existed. She stands from her seat.

"We were told you needed us," Kirsch says.

"Yes, only you, not her," Carmilla snaps. Laura would be more insulted if she wasn't so confused by Carmilla's tone. She's angry, almost frantic, as if she's about to be caught doing something dangerous.

"Don't worry, dear," Mattie says absently. Her eyes haven't left the binder. "The more bodies, the better. Or something like that."

"No, it's fine," Carmilla says, stepping around her desk. She's wearing a collard shirt and black leather pants today, a strike contrast to Mattie's red. "Hollard, go down to storage and help them organize last season's belts."

"We finished that this morning, Miss Karnstein," Laura says. Carmilla's cheeks color a bit.

Mattie's head rises at that. "Miss Karnstein? Since when did you have them call you…" She trails off when she sees Laura, the patronizing smirk falling from her lips. "Oh. Hello, there."

"Erm, hi?" Laura says, a bit thrown off by the sudden change in mood.

Mattie moves forward, passing a rather panicked looking Carmilla, and stands just in front of Laura. She towers over her in six inch heels, causing Laura to lean her head back a bit just to maintain eye contact.

"What's your name?"

"Laura Hollis. We've met before," she says before she can think better of it.

But Mattie seems to enjoy it. Her lips stretch into a cheshire smile, and she practically purrs, "Yes, I should say that we have."

"Mattie," Carmilla murmurs. It sounds like a warning.

"But of course, you work here!" Mattie says, suddenly much more cheerful. She reaches out and clasps her hands over Laura's. "What is it that you do, exactly?"

Laura's senses flare up again when Mattie's skin touches hers. She almost drowns in different sensations of amusement, sorrow, guilt, unbridled rage and _fear_ before she can muster up some resolve and answer the question. "I'm, um, one of Miss Karnstein's personal assistants."

"Are you?" Mattie turns to smirk at Carmilla over her shoulder. "I can't say I'm surprised."

Somehow, Laura gets the distinct feeling she's witnessing two entirely different conversations, though she's part of neither. Carmilla's expression is carefully schooled into its usual brand of disinterest, but Laura can see the tense set of her shoulders. Laura decides she really doesn't want to be a part of whatever this is.

"Most people, um, assume I'm an intern," she says awkwardly. She tries to pull her hands away, but Mattie's grip tightens around her wrists with an extraordinary amount of strength. Laura winces.

"Mattie, dearest," Carmilla drawls, stepping forward a bit. "My assistant will need her hands for work. I would prefer them to remain intact."

Mattie hesitates for a moment, her dark eyes flicking over Laura's face as if she's searching for a hidden detail. Then, with a sugary sweet smile, she releases Laura's hands. "My apologies. I'm told I can be a bit forward." She laughs.

Laura smiles weakly, rubbing her sore wrists behind her back. Kirsch is staring at her with wide eyes. _What the hell just happened?_

"Fetch the fabric swatches from last week's design lab, along with the original sketch binder," Carmilla orders, effectively dismissing Laura and Kirsch.

"But bring them to the large conference room on the sixteenth floor, we'll be having a meeting," Mattie adds. Laura glances behind her, watching as Carmilla pinches the bridge of her nose and shuts her eyes. Something's…not right.

But, it's apparently none of her business. Mattie shoos them out of the office and shuts the door behind them. Kirsch immediately turns to Laura.

"Are you alright? What was that?! She…that was…" he splutters, whirling around to stare at the office door. Laura ignores him, and focuses her senses on the conversation on the other side.

"You never change, do you?" Mattie is saying. She sounds less amused than before.

"I had no choice in the matter."

"Of course."

"I'm in complete control."

"I'm sure."

There's a pause, and then Carmilla says, "It's the same. No matter where we end up, it follows the pattern. I'm alone in this."

She sounds completely defeated. Larau's almost shocked. She's never thought of Carmilla Karnstein as anything less than a terrifying pillar of strength. Her voice sounds broken and tired, as if she's bearing a great weight. Laura tries to think back to the other times Mattie has visited. As far as she knows, she hasn't seen anything like this.

"Laura!" Kirsch's voice calls out, snapping Laura out of her focus. He's standing in front of her, a concerned look on his face. "You sure you're alright?"

Laura stares at him for a couple of seconds before she comprehends what he's asking. "Oh, yeah, I'm good." She smiles. "It's going to take more than some hand squeezing to rattle me." She brushes past him and walks down the aisle of desks, ignoring the nagging feeling that she's missing something incredibly important.

As the day continues, it becomes immediately obvious that Carmilla and Mattie are going to act as though this afternoon never happened. Mattie forgets Laura's name almost instantly, and takes to calling her things like, "cardigan," "cat-lady-in-training," "barely legal," and Laura's personal favorite, "The one that mutters under her breath when I yell at her."

Carmilla shows no signs of exhaustion or defeat. She lets Mattie take control over the meeting, and occupies herself by ordering Laura around. Seriously, that's all she does. Laura finds herself running all over the building, and she know she's doing more work than usual when her coworkers start sending her fearful looks. It's at the point where the fraction of time between each new task has dropped to thirty seconds. She's on her feet the entire day.

Thoughts of the strange afternoon fade as time drags on. The conference lasts for six hours, and by the end of it Laura's so tired she can hardly see straight. She merely nods to each new order, not really thinking, just acting on the whim. Carmilla has just given her two boxes to carry to her office, something that could have surely waited until tomorrow. Laura pushes the door open with her shoulder and stumbles inside.

She nearly drops the boxes on her feet when she sees she's not alone. Mattie's standing at Carmilla's bar, mixing a drink. She doesn't look up at Laura's gasp.

Laura decides she can place the boxes on Carmilla's desk and leave without being noticed. Her first step lands on a pencil, and the boxes tumble to the ground. She flushes, swears under her breath, and gathers up the contents.

When she stands, Mattie is watching her. "Be careful," she says, voice oddly quiet. "You don't want to hurt yourself."

It's all Laura can do to nod and carry the boxes safely to the desk. "I thought you were still at the conference," she says, hoping to be polite if Mattie insists on acknowledging her.

Mattie hums and swirls her drink. "You know, the rest of the crowd here would never dare to start a conversation with me."

Laura freezes. "I, uh…"

"Don't worry, I like it." She smirks, and takes a sip of her drink.

Laura just stands there. She has a feeling she's not allowed to leave.

Mattie pulls her glass away from her lips with a slight grimace. "She has better taste than this," she hisses. "Who stocks her liquor?"

"I don't know."

"Hmm." Mattie studies Laura. She's leaning up against the bar, ankles crossed. There's something almost otherworldly about her. Not a blemish in sight, beautiful, but terrifying. She's inhumanly still. Even now, as she swirls her glass, every movement seems calculated and controlled. It's disconcerting.

Laura is suddenly, painfully aware that this is the first time she's been alone in a room with Mattie Karstein. She feels on edge for some reason, as though she's about to be attacked. It's obviously just her overworked paranoia, but her eyes still scan Mattie's form for any signs of concealed weaponry. (But really, _nothing_ can be concealed in that skirt.)

"Oh, stop your panicking," Mattie says with a dramatic roll of her eyes. "I can practically hear your heartbeat."

_A Karnstein through and through,_ Laura thinks bitterly, watching as Mattie downs the rest of her drink and places the glass on the bar.

"I took a little break from the chaos, snuck away from my sister's watchful eyes." She notices Laura's incredulous look, and nods. "Yes, dear Carmilla can be quite protective over those she deems in her care. She does a fantastic job of hiding it. Still, I was able to sneak away." Her smile turns a little leery. "And look what it gave me? A chance to speak with you."

Okay, it's time for Laura to leave. _Now._ "I really ought to be getting back to—"

"Nonsense, you can spare a moment."

Laura sighs. She knows an order when she hears one.

"You've been working here how long?" Mattie asks, brushing an invisible hair out of her face.

"Around a year." Most people have left the building by now. There'll be no one to come to her rescue.

Mattie slowly nods. "I see. And during that year, how has my sister treated you?"

Laura nearly chokes.

She laughs. "I'm only teasing, I won't make you answer that." Her eyes glitter dangerously from across the room. "However, might I ask what a girl with your ambition is doing in a job such as this?"

"I'm…I'm not sure what you mean," Laura says, confused by the change in topic. She knows on some level, she's being interrogated, but she doesn't know what for.

"What I'm asking is if this job is truly the only option for you. You don't seem like one to be into fashion." Her eyes trail down Laura's body, taking in the stripped colored shirt and worn out leggings.

Laura laughs meekly. "Well, no, but the Karnstein name looks good on any resume." She hesitates. "I was also promised a golden recommendation when I get my break in journalism."

"And what if I were to offer you a better job, with greater perks?"

"What?"

Before Mattie can explain, the door behind Laura opens, and Carmilla steps into her office. She doesn't look too surprised to see Mattie and Laura. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything," she says in that distinct tone that suggests she wouldn't care either way.

"Nothing that can't be continued on a later date," Mattie says cheerfully. She runs her hands down her skirt, and lifts herself away from the counter. "Well, that's enough out of me today. I'm going home to slip into a warm bath."

Carmilla smirks. "Not alone, I hope?"

Mattie throws her head back with a laugh, and moves forward to tap Carmilla on her head. "No, I'm afraid not all of us can indulge ourselves in your preferred pastimes." She pulls her in to kiss her on each cheek. "Call me if there are any troubles with the plans," she says as she walks away. "And Hollis, consider my offer."

_I wasn't aware there was one,_ Laura thinks, watching Mattie saunter towards the elevators.

When she turns back around, Carmilla is seated at her desk, watching Laura. She turns away when their eyes meet. "You're free to go."

Laura doesn't need to be told twice. She books it out of the office, promising herself to never wind up alone with a Karnstein. _Ever._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What connection does the Countess have with the lizard people? What's going on between LaF and Perry? What the hell is up with Mattie? And will the author ever describe Laura's superhero costume in great detail? SO MANY QUESTIONS.
> 
> Please tell me what you thought. I'm so excited to write this, and I hope you're excited to read this.


	3. Can't Catch A Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI THERE! Yeah, I know this update took forever, my explanation is in the bottom notes. Never fear, for those of you who like this fic.

Raising a kid with super human abilities wasn’t easy. Laura’s childhood was full of slightly scary self discoveries, Krav Maga, meditation, and caution tape. A _lot_ of caution tape. Mr. Hollis set out to safety proof everything in Laura’s life, and though he never attempted to stifle her abilities, Laura often felt coddled and claustrophobic in her own home. When she finally graduated and arrived at a college thousands of miles away from her father, it felt like a breath of fresh air.

Until the air of her dormitory was filled with green, semi-poisonous gas clouds.

Laura and her roommate Betty had joined the herd of coughing students as they staggered out of the building. Between gasps for air, Laura tried to figure out what was going on.

“It’s those weirdos on the floor above us,” Betty spat, holding a towel to her mouth. “Last month, they let loose a bunch of purple lab rats.”

“They have a lab up there?!”

“Yeah. This entire college used to be a women’s psychiatric prison back in the twenties. The top floor of our dorm was used for human scientific experiments.”

“Huh.” Laura studied the odd looking grey building, noting the bars on the windows and the general sense of despair. “They didn’t mention that during orientation.”

Just then, the front doors burst open, revealing a strange figure in a yellow hazmat suit and gas mask. Green gas billowed out behind them, and Laura couldn’t help but appreciate the dramatic flare. At the sight of this, the crowd grew angry. They began to shout at the figure, though Laura noticed none of them were willing to get close. She craned her neck to watch as the person pulled out what at first appeared to be a megaphone. Instead of yelling back at the crowd, Laura was surprised to see them use the device to suck up the gas in a little glass bottle attached to the base.

“I bet that’s the bio major,” Betty mumbled. “It’s like they don’t care about anyone else.”

“At least they’re cleaning up their mess,” Laura said hesitantly. The device wasn’t doing much to get rid of all the gas. Some students began to wander off in the general direction of the cafeteria. Laura thought about doing the same, since it would clearly be awhile before she was granted access to her own dorm. However, her conscience tugged at her empathy, and Laura found herself walking through the green gas to approach the figure in the hazmat suit.

“What are you doing?!” Betty hissed after her. “You don’t know what’s in that gas!”

Laura shrugged. “I have strong lungs.” Strong enough to survive a nuclear apocalypse, but Betty didn’t need to know that.

The person lowered their device and cocked their head to one side, watching as Laura marched right up to them. “You should clear out,” a muffled voice said through the gas mask.

“You look like you could use some help.”

“You got a hazmat suit?”

“Nope.”

“Do you need one?”

“Probably not.”

“Alright.” 

And that was that. The strange student handed Laura their megaphone device, and pulled a smaller version out of one of their pockets. They both set about sucking up the gas together, working in companionable silence.

“Um, exactly how dangerous is this stuff?” Laura asked after it was clear they would never manage to collect all of the gas.

The hazmat suit hummed in thought. “Nothing to worry any authorities over, but I wouldn’t want to get this near a gas station. Or at least, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near that gas station if this stuff got to it.”

Laura mulled that over. “Okay. Makes sense.”

The suit stared. “I like you. You haven’t yelled at me yet.”

“Trust me, I’m saving that for later.”

They held out a rubbery hand. “I’m LaFontaine. They and them pronouns. Bio major.”

Laura happily shook the offered hand. “Laura Hollis. She and her pronouns. Journalism.”

“Journalism. Huh.” LaFontaine paused. “You aren’t going to write up a report in the school’s newsletter about this, right?”

“Oh, no. Unless you’re, like, performing unethical experiments against humanity in the dorms or something.” Laura started to laugh, but LaFontaine’s silence made her hesitate. “You’re not doing that, right?”

“Uh, I don’t think so? Technically?” 

“Technically is…good. I suppose.”

“Cool.”

It’s amazing how easy a lifelong friendship can start. LaF’s room was just down the hall from Laura’s, though they spent most of their time in the upstairs lab. LaFontaine’s roommate and best friend was a girl named Lola Perry, though everyone called her Perry. Within five minutes of meeting her, Laura found herself wearing a new homemade sweater and eating freshly baked brownies while snuggled up on Perry’s immaculately made bed. It was nothing short of perfect. After a few weeks of studying in Perry’s and LaF’s room, Laura took notice of a strange hooded figure who would sometimes make its way into LaF’s bedroom for days on end. A week after first spotting this stranger. Laura learned a name.

“That’s J.P., LaFontaine’s lab partner. He’s a comp sci major,” Perry explained one morning.

“Oh.” Laura turned her head to watch as J.P. stumbled into the kitchen, grabbed a capri-sun from the fridge, and stumbled back into the bedroom. “That does explain the whole, night of the living dead look. Is he dating LaF?”

Perry dropped her whisk into her mixing bowl. “Dating? Him? LaFontaine?! That’s, well, that’s…” She started to laugh, high-pitched and forceful. “That’s funny! No, no, they’re just good friends. He likes to use their bedroom while they’re busy up in the lab.” She tugged at a loose curl, avoiding Laura’s eyes.

Deciding to ignore the obvious history and drama, Laura set about trying to find a way to introduce herself to the mysterious tech student. Apparently, all you had to do was offer him food. Laura entered the bedroom armed with a bowl of ramen. J.P. turned away from his computer screen to blink wearily at her, watching her approach like a cornered animal. 

“Is that store bought?” He asked. Laura was surprised by the british accent.

“Uh, no. This is homemade.”

J.P.’s eyes widened. If Laura were to focus her senses, she would most certainly hear him salivating.

“Would you like some?” Laura offered. 

Two minutes later, the bowl was empty, and J.P. was talking. “Engineering and science are both ingrained practices in my family tree,” he explained. Laura nodded along. “My mother is the CEO of a big tech company, though I’m not permitted to state the name.”

“By law?”

“Yeah, um, sure,” he said, his eyes shifting to one side. If Laura didn’t know any better, she’d guess that J.P.’s mother was the CEO of something illegal.

“I was accepted into plenty of Ivy leagues and name brands, but I turned them down and chose this university.”

Laura blinked several times in surprise. “Really? Why?”

The tops of J.P.’s ears turned red. “This was the only school I could find without a building dedicated to one of my family members.”

Charmed, Laura set out to become friends with this strange boy. His mother seemed to be the one to blame for his shut-in personality. The woman could smell trouble from thousands of miles away. Whenever one of J.P.’s grades started to slip, he got a call from home the very next day. Laura got the feeling J.P. didn’t come from a very nurturing environment, a suspicion that was confirmed by the obvious special treatment Perry showed him. Both Laura and Perry vowed to ensure that J.P. was eating regular meals and sticking to a somewhat sane sleep schedule. As for LaFontaine, there wasn’t a force in the universe that could prevent them from ignoring all basic survival instincts once they started working on a new project.

Meanwhile, Laura was beginning to dabble in a bit of superhero work.

Her father had prohibited such activities while she was living at home. Ironically, he had equipped her with all the skills she needed to become a vigilante in his quest to ensure her safety. Not only was she professionally trained in the art of Krav Maga, but her years of gymnastics skills combined with her meditative studies turned Laura into a focussed, deadly, flexible hero of the night. 

Specifically Friday night, when drunken college girls could use a silent protector. 

Her superhuman abilities were more defensive than combative, but she put them to good use. Laura’s healing powers were helpful in small ways, such as repairing the skin of a fallen biker under the guise of helping them to their feet. All she needed were a few moments of skin-to-skin contact, and minor injuries were healed up in seconds. Major injuries were a bit trickier. She’d once attempted to mend her father’s broken leg all in one go, and almost passed out in the process. When it came to broken bones, Laura discovered she needed about a half hour of skin contact and full concentration. She’d never tried anything bigger than a broken bone, and hoped she’d never have to.

Despite this, Laura Hollis was no med student. She had other powers besides healing. Powers she had yet to understand, but would be useful later on in life, once she started to train. LaFonatine and J.P. helped with that, once her secret was out.

It was dead week of her first semester. Laura was stressed to the max, what with her midnight superhero outings and the pile up of study work. It was an added strain to keep her powers hidden from her friends. Sneaking out was a hazard, and despite her fast healing rate, her knees ached from scrambling onto the roofs of buildings. She got caught sneaking down her dorm’s hall so many times, that Perry had put up a notice about sleepwalking. Laura hated secrets, and saw no reason to keep this one.

She walked into Perry’s room late one evening, happy to see that it was one of those rare occasions that J.P. and LaFontaine were eating an actual meal like normal people. Perry seemed especially pleased by this, and was humming a little song to herself as she got out her biodegradable utensils. (A recent J.P. and LaF invention, and so far inflammable.) 

Laura stood up tall and cleared her throat. “Guys, I have an announcement to make.”

“We know you’re a lesbian,” J.P. said, not looking up from his plate. LaFontaine sniggered.

“No. I mean, yes, but that’s not it.”

Perry smiled at Laura as she passed out some coasters. “Did you meet someone? A girlfriend?”

“No, that’s not it either. I’ve been keeping a secret from all of you.” 

All three heads rose.

“A secret?” J.P. asked.

Perry frowned. “It’s nothing bad, is it?” 

“No. Well, I hope not. I’d understand if you felt that way.”

“Oh. I know what it is,” LaF said, shifting their attention back to the cheap chicken parmesan Perry had just served.

Laura stared at them. “You do?”

“Yeah. You’re a superhero, right?”

Perry burst out laughing. J.P. started to smile, but it quickly dropped from his face as he looked back and forth between Laura and LaF. Laura’s thoughts raced through her head, different theories and ideas on how LaFontaine could have possible guessed the truth. As the silence dragged on, Perry’s laughter faded away.

“Wait, you can’t be serious,” she said, a hint of a smile still managing to cling to her face. “Laura isn’t a superhero!”

Laura winced.

Perry stared.

J.P. coughed

LaFontaine shredded a bit of cheese over their chicken. 

“LaF is correct,” Laura said slowly, “but I don’t know how they knew.”

LaFontaine looked up from their dinner, and smiled at every wide-eyed look in the room. “Oh, come on. I can’t have been the only one.”

Silence.

They rolled their eyes. “Typical.” While they cut their chicken, they explained in a slightly bored tone. “You all must have noticed how late Laura’s been staying up.”

“It’s dead week,” Perry stammered.

“True, but those dark circles have been under her eyes since September. Every single pair of pajama pants she owns are covered in either dirt, grass stains, blood, or alcohol. Laura sucks at laundry, so we don’t know how old those stains are.”

Laura considered protesting, but wisely changed her mind. 

“And she’s not exactly the kind to party in her PJ’s. She’s also very secretive about her childhood, though she insists she had a normal one without any sports training. That story doesn’t explain her incredible reflexes.”

“Reflexes?” J.P. asked.

Without looking at Laura, LaF picked up a knife and chucked it at her. Laura caught it without thinking or looking, the blade facing skyward. Perry and J.P. blinked in unison.

“Not to mention how campus crime has been at a standstill since the start of term.” LaFontaine popped a bit of chicken in their mouth, and continued talking between chews. “It’s pretty obvious once you take a step back and look at it all.”

Everyone stared at them. Laura felt as though she should be doing something, like beating the hell out of LaFontaine.

Perry was obviously confused. “But, but the news!” She cried. “We would have heard something if there was a superhero on campus! People would be talking about it.” 

LaF shrugged. “Laura’s on the school newspaper.”

Laura blushed. She did feel a bit guilty about that, but if news ever got out that there was a masked girl running around punching sexist frat boys, everyone would want to do it.

“Hold on a second, just _hold on a second,”_ Perry cried, getting to her feet. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that Laura Hollis, our good friend Laura Hollis, is a…a…” She couldn’t quite get the words out.

“I have superhuman powers,” Laura said.

“Yes! That!” Perry laughed hysterically. “There’s no way!”

Seeing that things could get ugly fast, Laura shut her eyes and focussed her senses. “In this room, at this very moment, there are five spiders. One underneath the kitchen sink, two underneath the sofa, one by the door, and one just to the left of J.P.’s right foot. 

Everyone looked at J.P.’s right foot. The spider inched closer towards his bare feet, which he hurriedly pulled up and out of reach.

“Cool,” LaF said.

Perry straightened her spine, and without looking at anyone in particular, announced, “I have somewhere to be,” then left her own dorm.

Laura sank down onto the couch. She felt embarrassed, defeated, but not too surprised. “How long will she be mad at me?” She asked LaFontaine.

“Don’t worry, she’s fine. She just needs some time to think it over,” LaF said, though Laura couldn’t help but notice how they avoided her eyes. LaF knew more than they were letting on, but it was not their secret to tell. LaFontaine would never divulge the private information or a friend, an interesting trait to be found in a scientist who _loved_ sharing information.

“And what do you two think?” 

J.P., his attention still on the spider beneath his chair, shrugged. “I don’t see the issue. It’s certainly interesting, I want to learn more, but I don’t have a problem with anything.”

LaF gave Laura a rare smile. “Does this mean you’ll finally let me run those reflexive experiments on you?”

“No.”

“But—”

“No.”

What followed was a long conversation where Laura came clean about her childhood. LaF and J.P. were mostly silent throughout, with only a few interruptions for clarification or questions. Laura wasn’t surprised to find they were both eager to help with the vigilantism. LaFontaine already had a reputation as a human fire hazard, and J.P. was willing to do anything that involved him working out complex puzzles. Thus, the super team was born.

Two hours later, Perry had yet to return, and Laura, J.P., and LaF were discussing specifications.

“So let’s get this straight,” LaF said, tapping one finger to their chin. “Your powers. You heal at a faster rate than an average human, and you can heal others to a certain extent.”

“Yup.”

“You can, uh, detect emotions? They appear as auras?”

“Yeah, usually in colors or shapes, or I’ll sometimes feel them myself.“

“Also, you have super spidey senses,”

“I’m not Spiderman.”

“And you can tell the future.”

Laura rubbed her eyes with her fists, slumping down on the couch until her chin rested on her chest. “I told you, that was just the one time.” 

When she was thirteen, Laura was somehow able to foresee a car crash, and warned her dad in time to prevent it. She’d never had another vision since.

“What’s your superhero name?” J.P. asked. He was lying on the couch with his head in Laura’s lap, fighting off a food coma. 

“I don’t have one. The media names superheroes. It comes with the territory.”

LaFonatine, who was now attempting to build a tower out of empty glasses and biodegradable utensils, shook their head. “Nah, I don’t buy that. Defy the system. Make your own name.”

Laura snorted. “What, and end up like Aquamarine Girl? All the self-proclaimed super names sound like middle school email accounts.”

“No, don’t worry, we’ll come up with something cool.” LaFonatine reassured her, pausing to think for a moment. “What about _College Cryptid?”_

“That’s J.P.’s name.”

“Oh. Right.”

J.P. glared at them both. “Since when was I labeled a cryptid?”

“Since a photography undergrad got that picture of you in a hoodie, doing the Bigfoot pose.”

Laura laughed. 

Someone cleared her throat. 

Perry stood in the entryway, looking very nervous, and clutching a large plastic bag in each hand. She cleared her throat again, and kicked the door shut behind her. “I’m back.”

Quickly realizing that no one else was going to say anything, Laura spoke up hurriedly, if only to break the silence. “Yes. Welcome back.”

Perry tried for a smile, but gave up halfway through. She moved forward into the room and deposited the contents of the plastic bags onto the coffee table after a second’s hesitation.

“I picked up some things while I was away,” she said.

Gingerly, Laura held up a smooth black sports shirt. “What’s this?”

Perry shrugged, her eyes on a piece of lint on the back of the couch. “Well, I figured since you’re doing all this hero work at night, in your pajamas, you’re more likely to catch a cold than catch a criminal.”

J.P. laughed. Laura shot him a glare.

“I happened to be passing by a thrift store, and found a few items that are much more durable than any set of sleepwear you might own.”

Laura ran her fingers of the fabric of the shirt. It was durable, and more discrete than the pair of flannel bottoms she was currently running around in. Perry had also bought her two pairs of deep maroon cargo pants with plenty of pockets. The pants had elastic bands at the ankles so one could easily move around.

“You can’t have gotten all of this at a thrift store,” Laura said, holding up a pair of black tennis shoes that appeared to be waterproof.

Perry shrugged. “I have my ways.”

Laura leaned back to look up at her. Perry held her gaze for a moment, and offered a small smile. Whatever she was unable to say out loud, she had managed to say with her gifts. Laura smiled back.

“Not that I hate this display of mutual understanding, but can we get back to the more important topic at hand?” LaFontaine said, ruining the moment. “Namely, Laura’s name.”

Perry frowned, and moved around the couch to sit next to Laura. “But she already has a name.”

“Not a superhero name,” J.P. corrected.

“Oh.” Perry looked to Laura. “Do you need one?”

Laura tried to pretend as though the idea didn’t interest her. “If the public were to give me one—“

LaF threw a pillow at her. “Oh, don’t start with that modesty crap, tell us the name you want.”

Laura sniggered and threw the pillow back. “Who says I’ve thought of a name?”

“Uh, it’d be weird if you haven’t?”

J.P. nodded. “That is true.”

“What about, _The Intruder?”_

LaF munched on one of Perry’s dinner crackers. “Nah, you’d sound like a cat burglar from the sixties.”

“Ok, what about _The Listener?_ Because I listen to people’s emotions?”

Perry giggled. Laura took that as her cue to start a massive pillow fight, one that lasted well into the night.

Perry, LaF, and J.P. graduated a year before Laura. Perry took her degrees in the culinary arts and business management, and set out to open her own pastry shop. LaFontaine convinced her to move with them to Silas, the city of constant scientific anomalies. (“There _has_ to be a market for pastries there. With all those super villains threatening to blow up the city every other week, who wouldn’t want a cupcake?”) Perry was convinced, and got a small apartment with LaF directly above a bakery which was hardly bigger than a telephone booth. J.P. came to the city after some deliberation. He became a freelance website designer, and moved into the apartment. Laura followed as soon as she graduated. The first several months were hard, with all four of them barely providing enough income to buy basic necessities, not to mention the huge threat of student loan debt. That’s part of the reason why Laura accepted the Karnstein job offer. It pays good, and every little bit counts.

She forces herself to remember this as she carries an enormous bucket of fabric swatches to the primary meeting room. No one bothers to offer Laura any help as she groans and pants her way past the desks. She has a sneaking suspicion people think if they were to lend a helping hand to Karnstein’s lowly assistant/presumed fuck buddy, they would bring upon themselves Karnstein’s wrath. That, or everyone’s too busy with their own problems to worry about Laura’s. Mattie’s appearance yesterday quickly become a major cause of stress. Everyone seems to have collectively remembered that in six months time, they will be hosting a giant superhero convention in which Karnstein’s latest looks will be the prime focus. There is still so much to be done, and as deadlines draw near, tempers flare. 

Laura and Kirsch are the go-to emotional punching bags of the building. Sure, the interns take their fair share of abuse, but Laura and Kirsch don’t cry as easy. Since most people believe her to be the bedmate of the hateful witch of the company, most turn their aggressions on Laura. Kirsch once claimed he had it far worse. Upon being asked why, he said, “Because Karnstein doesn’t care if the others pick on me.”

Confused, Laura questioned him further. “That doesn’t make sense. Karnstein hates me more than you.”

Kirsch had laughed. And laughed. Laura never figured out what was so funny.

She certainly isn’t laughing now. Sweaty and tired, Laura kicks open the door to the main conference room, expecting it to be empty. 

It isn’t, of course. Karnstein is going over some papers with a frazzled looking PR manager. A small herd of interns are huddling in a corner, their eyes darting to Laura as she enters the room. Karnstein barely spares her a glance, but points to the table, where Laura gladly puts down the fabric swatches.

“I just don’t see how this will work,” the PR manager is saying, very bravely, Laura must admit.

Karnstein hums a bit. “It will. I’ve been playing this game much longer than you have.” She pauses, a strange smile curling her dark lips. _“Much_ longer.”

The PR manager coughs, his eyes darting to Laura, who shrugs to show she doesn’t know what Karstein is referring to. Carmilla Karnstein is young, not much older than Laura, and definitely younger than any senior PR manager. She has a limited experience to anything regarding the upbringing of the company.

But, Karnstein's word is law, and the PR manager’s no idiot. He gives a short nod and quietly excuses himself, dragging his papers along with him. Karstein’s attention turns to the interns, who seem to shuffle closer together as she moves towards them.

“You,” she says, her eyes on a boy with an unfortunate amount of acne on his forehead. “Find me all the folders on the last convention, nothing digital.” At his look of blank confusion, she rolls her eyes. “Dear saints above—it will be filed under C, ask the goons working in records for assistance.”

The boy rushes out of the room, his face flushed. Laura steps to one side to let him pass.

“You, girl, I want the head shots of all the models for the convention. They need to be re-approved.”

“They’ve already been confirmed, Ms. Karnstein.”

There’s a long pause wherein Carmilla shows the intern the entire sum of her future, without uttering a single word.

“I’ll get the head shots, ma’am,” the girl squeaks. She retreats with her head lowered, but Laura catches a glimpse of pure terror as she rushes past.

Karstein goes on like this, installing a heavy fear in all the remaining interns with the ferocity of a drill sergeant. Laura waits patiently by the door, knowing it will be easier to set up the conference when Karstein isn’t frothing at the mouth. Once the last frightened college student has fled the room, Laura moves to pick up the stack of binders sitting on the edge of the table. She places them in front of each seat carefully, mindful of who is sitting by who. Mrs. Dozier must be far away from Mr. Cholrule, their affair ended horribly and any proximity would be dangerous. Eliza can’t sit near Carmilla, the poor girl is still harboring illusions of a romance, and Laura can only imagine the mess human resources would surely blame—

“Mattie offered you a job yesterday.” 

It takes a lot of strength not to react to that. Laura continues to place binders in front of chairs, steeling herself for whatever conversation is to come. “Yes, she did.”

“You considered it.”

“She didn't give me enough information to consider,” Laura answers honestly.

Karstein falls silent.

Laura quickens her pace a bit, suddenly very eager to leave the room. She has a feeling she’s accidentally stumbled upon a feud between the Karnstein sisters. They may seem close, but there’s a dark history between them. It’s hidden behind every smirk, every “darling”, every hug. Laura can recognize a secret feud when she sees one, and she wants no part of it.

“However bad you believe me to be, Mattie is far worse,” Karnstein says. Her voice is quiet and low, almost as if Laura was not meant to hear that. She’s leaning against the only door to the room, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. As per usual, she’s the very picture of lazy beauty. Mussed up hair, a purple blouse that’s a seam away from falling off her shoulders, and black pants that look much too tight to function properly. If Laura wasn’t used to this image after two years of working as Carmilla Karnstein’s assistant, she’d be a blushing mess.

Well, more of a blushing mess than usual.

“I don’t _believe_ anything, Ms. Karnstein,” Laura says, not lifting her eyes from the water pitchers she’s placing on the table. “If your sister were to offer me a position, I would refuse.” She pauses, then quickly adds, “But not because you told me so. My home is in Silas. I have no wish to move to France.”

“She won’t give up easily, you know.” Karnstein’s gaze is blazing holes in the back of Laura’s head. “She was quite impressed with you, and she believes me to have more than enough assistance at my disposal.”

With no other tasks to distract herself with, Laura reluctantly turns to meet Karnstein’s eyes. She stands straight and clasps her hands behind her back, holding her head high. “I don’t give up easily either, Ms. Karnstein. If you have a problem with your sister offering me work, perhaps you should take it up with her.”

She hears gasps and giggles from behind the door, where a few stray interns are no doubt listening in. _They’ve probably heard those rumors of our forbidden sexual affair,_ Laura thinks glumly. _Just what I need. More whispers behind my back._

Karnstein either doesn’t notice the eavesdroppers, or doesn’t care enough to show it. She looks Laura up and down, rolls her eyes, and moves to sit at the head of table. “Go get me some coffee, Horkle, with the special soy milk in my mini-fridge,” she drawls, kicking her feet up and on top of one of the binders Laura had positioned carefully. “And get the other one in here.”

Laura fights the urge to give a low bow before she exits the room. “The other one” means Kirsch, as it always does. As far as Laura’s concerned, he’s lucky to have only one nickname, while she’s saddled with every “H” name Karnstein can think of.

She’s in a bit of an angry fog as she leaves the conference room. The interns by the door dive out of her way, trying to hide their smirks. Laura takes a quick glance at their emotional psyches, and is unsurprised to see a blend of lime green amusement, some orange flecks of jealousy, and plenty of beet red anger. Whoever’s sleeping with the boss slowly becomes the most hated person in the building.

Laura bumps into somebody on her way to the elevator. She assumes it’s another sniggering intern, and starts to snap at them. “Look, I’ve had a very rough day, so if you and your friends would just do me a favor and leave me alone—“

“I mean, I will, if that’s what you want. But that would suck.”

Laura’s blood runs cold and she slowly looks up into the smiling face of Danny Lawrence. Blushing profusely, she stutters out an apology and tries to explain. 

Danny kindly cuts her off. “Don’t worry, I’ve yelled at plenty of interns. Bunch of twerps, right?”

Laura nods, smiling gratefully. “Yeah, though I sort of pity them. Whenever I give them orders, they look at me like I’m going to steal their lunch money.”

Danny laughs. It’s a welcoming sight, a warmth that spreads over the chills Karnstein left. She’s dressed casually today, in a t-shirt and jeans. It must be her day off.

“Are you here to check up on your boss’ instructions?” Laura asks, walking to the elevators.

Danny follows at her side, her long legs easily matching Laura’s stride. “Actually, I came for you.”

“For me?” Laura asks stupidly.

“Yeah, I was wondering if you wanted to grab dinner after you got off work.”

Laura’s so shocked she almost stops walking, which would practically be a death sentence amongst all the stressed workers running to-and-fro. So, she satisfies herself with gaping up at Danny. The most common reaction to being asked out by one’s long-time crush is confusion, followed by a rush of excitement. Laura is different. She understands what Danny is asking, so there’s no point in confusion on that front. The rush of excitement never comes.

Laura happens to be very clever. She believes this to be true, not out of any sense of egotistical pride or self-congratulatory uniqueness, but as a simple fact of her life. She has to be clever to do what she does, balance two lives at once. Sure, she can be quite stupid at times, but not when it comes to situations like these. Reaction time is everything to Laura, especially considering it could mean the difference between life and death. Subsequently, she’s five steps ahead of this very conversation.

Danny just asked her out on a date. Yes, that’s wonderful, and thank god she wasn’t the one who had to do it. If it had been up to Laura to make the first move… Yeah. This wouldn’t be happening.

Of course she wants to say yes to the date. There’s a wonderful little sushi place down the street from her apartment, which just so happens to be right next door to her favorite comic book shop. Danny loves sushi + Laura loves nerdy stuff = perfect date.

So why isn’t she excited?

Because she works for Karnstein.

More specifically, she works for _Capes and Masks,_ a Karnstein run superhero fashion company which plans on hosting a giant convention in six months.

So Karnstein has scheduled production meetings every day this month.

Laura Hollis is Carmilla Karnstein’s personal assistant, who specifies in scheduling and running quick errands. Her attendance to these meetings is not only necessary, but fundamental to her success in any future career. 

Production meetings start late in the day, and go well after closing time. Those attending these meetings have no quarrel with this slightly “illegal” work practice, because those attending these meetings have made fashion their entire lives. 

Everyone besides Laura, that is. 

She winces up at Danny, trying to convey all of what just ran through her head with one facial expression.

Danny, who is just as smart as Laura, winces back. “You can’t, can you?”

Laura groans.“No! But I want to! Please, believe me when I say that I want to,” she pleads.

“I believe you,” Danny says, her smile growing.

“It’s just, that big superhero convention—“

“Oh!” Danny brings a hand to her forehead. “I completely forgot about that!”

Laura stares at her. “How? You work for Priscilla Rodriguez.”

“Yeah, but she’s only doing a small panel discussion, merely an appearance. She hates big shows, says their more about money than fashion.”

Laura snorts, and angrily jams her finger onto the elevator button. “She’s probably right. We might as well be doing informercials.” When the button doesn’t light up, she focusses her anger on it, pressing it multiple times. “It doesn’t matter what we’re selling, it’s all about stroking egos and bragging rights and throwing around funds, just so a bunch of people can buy really expensive tickets to a _deluxe_ showing of sequins and glitter so they can brag about it to people who couldn’t afford to come, and the whole time I’ll have to put up with Karnstein, who overworks me to the point where I can no longer dream in color—“

“What?” Danny says sharply.

Laura glances up at her, noticing her worried expression. “No, it’s fine, I’m over exaggerating. I’m used to the workload.” She turns back to the button.

That doesn’t seem to calm Danny. If anything, it makes her more upset. She puts a hand on Laura’s arm.“Laura, how bad is she treating you?” She asks in a low tone.

Laura shakes her head, silently regretting everything she’s just said. “Danny, I’m alright. She doesn’t treat me horribly, she’s just…” She shrugs. “She’s a difficult person.”

Danny stands dangerously still. Laura’s senses are immediately on edge. In a swift, fluid movement, Danny turns away from Laura and starts to march back to the conference room.

“Dear _merlin—“_ Laura mutters, and hurries after her. 

Danny easily cuts a path through the mass of rushing people. It’s clear to everyone that she’s on a mission, and they start to stare after her and she gets closer and closer to the room Karnstein’s in. 

Laura finally gets in front of her, holding out her arms like an incredibly stressed crossing guard. “What are you doing?!” She hisses.

Danny is standing tall. She looks dangerously powerful. “I am going to gently inform your boss of potentially illegal corporate practices,” she says cooly.

Laura laughs. It’s sharp and slightly insane. “No, you’re not, because if you do that, I will get fired.”

Danny glances down at her, and gives Laura what she probably assumes is a reassuring smile. To Laura, it just seems condescending. “ _She’s worried I can’t protect her.”_ Laura is so stricken by the resemblance to her father, that she doesn’t notice Danny slip by her.

She does, however, manage to block her again, just before Danny can knock on the conference room door. “Please, Danny, for the love of my sanity, don’t go into that room!” She begs, bracing her body as if to physically stop her.

Danny, whose expression is still carefully blank, meets her eyes and says slowly, “Laura. That women treats you like a dog. Someone needs to tell her to step off.”

“I do!” Laura cries, ignoring the curious looks from the crowd their slowly drawing. “Every day! I am more than capable of handling myself, I don’t need you to do this!” 

Danny frowns, hurt.

Laura quickly lowers her voice, reaching forward to clasp her hands around Danny’s. “Look, I appreciate you going all warrior princess for my sake, but I’ve got this under control. I’ve worked here for two years.” She smiles. “If I wasn’t able to take the heat, I would have quit ages ago.” 

Danny still looks unsure, but being the clever woman she is, she drops the subject. Later that night upon recalling the incident—among the other horrible things that happened that day—Laura will wonder if Danny truly believed Laura to be capable to taking care of her own professional career, or if Danny believed that pressing the subject would cause further problems with a personal relationship with Laura, so she let the matter go temporarily. Laura would fall asleep soon after, and forget the entire worry by morning.

Danny squeezes Laura’s hands, but doesn’t let go. “How about we reschedule that date, to make up for this?” She asks.

“That sounds great,” Laura sighs, ignoring the incredibly interested looks of the small crowd that had been watching the commotion. A few of them whisper to each other, no doubt trying to understand why Karnstein’s sex buddy is agreeing to go on a date with a representative from Mrs. Rodriguez’s company.

“Next week?” Danny’s smiling now, all traces of previous worry gone.

Laura smiles apologetically instead of answering.

Danny’s smile drops. “Two weeks from now?”

Laura’s smile turns into a grimace.

“What, a whole _month?”_

It’s somewhat lucky that the door opens just then, because Danny looks seconds away from storming into the conference room and wringing Karnstein’s neck. (A sight which Laura would, on some occasions, pay good money to see, but she has a feeling superheroes aren’t supposed to think things like that.)

Karstein’s focussed on her phone as she opens the door. At the sight of the boss, the lingering crowd quickly departs in a group. Laura is reminded of the nature documentary she watched last week, when the herd of zebra ran off together so as to confuse the lioness. The idea of Karnstein being a giant cat of prey is very fitting. Especially now, when she looks up from her phone and studies Laura and Danny holding hands like middle school dancing partners.

“Miss Lawrence. This is a surprise,” she mutters, slipping her phone into her back pocket.

Somehow, Laura gets the feeling this wasn’t a surprise at all. She has a certain image of Karnstein listening into their conversation behind that closed door, an angry scowl growing on her face.

Karnstein’s eyes travel down Danny’s form, hesitating at the frayed ends of the t-shirt and the old looking jeans. “I take it this isn’t a professional visit.”

“No,” Danny answers curtly, but not entirely impolite, for which Laura is grateful. “I was here to pay Laura a visit.”

At that, Karnstein rolls her eyes. She moves briskly forward and steps in-between Laura and Danny, breaking their hand hold apart in the process. The literary nerd in Laura has to appreciate the symbolism. “Horingile, this is your job, not an after school playdate. I shouldn’t have to tell you this.”

Laura opens her mouth to speak, but Danny’s quicker. “I came here of my own choice, Miss Karnstein. Laura didn’t know.”

Karnstein waves a hand at them without turning around, showing her disinterest. They both watch her walk off to the elevators, her stride never slipping.

“I hate her,” Danny mutters low under her breath.

Laura breathes out a long sigh through her nose. If she were able to see the future at that very moment, she would either laugh herself breathless or cry herself to pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, there's not a lot of Hollstein in this one, but I promise you, the next chapter contains the scene that made me want to write this particular fic in the first place. I'm so excited.
> 
> The reason this chapter took so long was because it was very VERY hard for me to write.
> 
> I re-wrote the whole thing twice. The first two times were okay, but not where I wanted them to be, and then I cut the whole thing off because a scene dragged this chapter on too long, and nothing felt right. 
> 
> I'm going to fight to do this to the best of my current abilities. I love this story, I love these characters, and I want to share them with you.


	4. Laura's Not Getting Paid Enough for This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW IT'S BEEN FOREVER BUT I'LL EXPLAIN AT THE END.
> 
> *throws fourth chapter at you*
> 
> *scurries to the end notes*

It’s hour three of the production meeting. Laura’s vision is starting to blur from boredom. Karnstein has spent the past ten minutes sarcastically ranting at Mr. Gladian for proposing a floral print for spring. 

“Truly, it’s revolutionary,” she drones, tapping her fingernails against the polished glaze of the conference table. “I’m so glad you’re on my team. With such innovative thinking, _Capes and Masks_ will be at the forefront of modern fashion for centuries to come.”

Mr. Gladian, who is sweating so profusely he is beginning to slide out of his seat, attempts to defend himself. “I o-only suggested f-f-floral print because—“

“Because you’re a washed up old has-been who takes credit for the work of his employees.” Karnstein fixes him with a knowing glare. “The last two designs you presented came right off the desk of one of your underlings, a naive girl named Jane Binnite. I have no respect for a man so unoriginal he sees fit to take advantage of a young artist, and then comes to my production meeting and suggests the unique idea of floral prints,” she pauses briefly to sneer, “for _spring.”_

Laura, while privately agreeing with Karnstein’s assessment of Mr. Gladian’s character, is hoping this particular conversation wraps up so she can go home and sleep. The meeting was supposed to be about the convention, but the last hour has been devoted to the following year. Laura sits at the back of the room by the coffee pot, quietly taking notes and fighting the urge to scream.

Standing from her seat as if she hadn’t just righteously humiliated a man twice her age, Karnstein kicks off her heels and places them on the table. The members of the meeting don’t react, they’re used to Carmilla’s antics by now. Laura shoots a glare at the heels, which she knows she’ll end up carrying out of the conference room at the end of the day. 

Karnstein slowly makes her way around the table. Each person stiffens as she passes almost silently behind them, no one daring to speak.

“After the disaster that was the fall line, the eye of the media is upon us, waiting for us to fail again.” Now standing at the other end of the table, she places both hands on its surface and gradually meets every eye in the room. “This past year, I was busy with other needs, and did not have much control over our creative choices.”

Laura holds back a snort. Karnstein’s “other needs” largely involved a girl she had been seeing at the time, a blonde model named Elise Something. Nevertheless, the fall line failed because Karnstein had not been around to oversee it. Like college freshmen discovering the joys of no parental supervision, her production team ran around like idiots, pulling last minute decisions out of nowhere and slapping them on magazine covers. The result was something the fashion world would long remember as a dark shadow looming over _Capes and Masks_ ’ reputation.

If Laura has learned one thing about the fashion world over the years, it’s that critics are a bunch of pretentious cash-grabbing hogs.

“Miss Karnstein,” Eliza Whatever-Her-Last-Name-Is speaks up, raising her hand like a third-grader, “what plans do you have in mind?”

It does not escape Laura’s notice how Eliza’s eyes are focussed on Carmilla, but stray nowhere near her face. Apparently, it doesn’t escape Karnstein’s notice either, and she practically preens in response to the attention. “The upcoming convention is going to revitalize our brand. We need to be prepared, not only for this year, but for the years to come.”

And boy, does that surprise Laura. Up to this point she had failed to consider that Karnstein was actually taking this seriously. If Karnstein suddenly wants to act upon her position as the leader of the company, what else has Laura missed?

Those seated at the conference table also look surprised. There’s a small scatter of low murmurs, the nervous shuffle of papers and the shifting of bodies. Karnstein is widely feared and respected as the boss, but everyone knows she likes to rule through other people. Her mother owns the Karnstein brand, there’s no question of why an infamous playgirl billionaire wound up as the CEO of the most impressive superhero fashion company in the world. Karnstein would never be fired for doing no work, so why put in effort now?

_Something’s going on,_ Laura thinks. _Something important._

Well, whatever it is, there’s no time to discover it. With a mournful glance at the clock, Laura begins to think fond thoughts of her bed back home. Food, maybe hot chocolate, watching three seasons of that new Netflix show Danny’s been raving about…

“No, we can’t use the three-inch belt on the Aqua-nator,” Carmilla snaps, drawing Laura back to reality. She’s glaring at Mrs. Dozier, who’s glaring bravely back.

“The two-inch was featured last summer, and did well amongst—“

“If you’re about to say consumers, I will throw you out the window,” Karnstein says flatly. “How many times do I have to tell you idiots that we are not. Allowed. To. _Repeat.”_ She punctuates each word with a slap to the table, making everyone besides Mrs. Dozier flinch.

“I’m not suggesting we repeat anything, but a two-inch belt is surely less gladorian,” Mrs. Dozier says, sniffing importantly.

_Gladorian’s not a word,_ Laura thinks.

“That’s not a word,” Karnstein says. “We’re using a three-inch.”

And then the true argument begins. Laura stops daydreaming about hot chocolate and Netflix and starts daydreaming about flinging herself off the roof of the building. She studies each face in the room, looking for signs of sanity in this hellhole. Mrs. Dozier is starting to sweat her makeup off. Liza is shouting at people, but still struggling to keep a smile on her face. Some guy in a floral suit has spent the last five minutes nodding along to whatever Carmilla says. Mr. Gladian looks as though he’s about to cry.

Laura yawns. Karnstein notices.

“Excuse me,” she says. Her voice is soft, but somehow manages to drown out all surrounding arguments, bringing everything to a standstill. Karnstein slowly sits in her chair, her eyes on Laura. “Are we boring you?”

Heads turn, and glares refocus. Acting on instinct, Laura taps into the general surrounding emotions. She nearly passes out from the overwhelming sensations of relief and superiority. 

Relief, because if Karnstein is now angry at her assistant, she’s not angry at any of them.

Superiority, because how dare a lowly assistant be bored in this business. 

But yes, Laura is bored, and Laura is tired, and Laura probably would be having dinner with Danny right now if it wasn’t for this stupid production meeting. So she does what she usually does in times of great stress. She puts her foot in her mouth. “I’m sorry, Miss Karnstein, but I’m a bit confused.”

Karstein’s expression hardly changes, but Laura can feel the increase in interest. “Confused in what way?”

“Oh, come on,” Laura says, smiling. “A three-inch belt? Is this really so important?” She meets several panicked gazes, and tries not to laugh. “We have deadlines to meet, a belt isn’t worth this much stress.”

Like an audience at a tennis match, all the heads swivel back to Carmilla at the other end of the table. Her eyes never leave Laura, who’s struck by the sudden urge to run from the room.

“A belt isn’t worth this much stress,” Karnstein repeats. “Well. What a true statement. Don’t we all feel foolish.”

In Laura’s head, something starts to tick. It might be a bomb.

Karstein’s dark eyes twinkle. “Then again, why should we appreciate input from someone who dresses like an extra in Rent the musical?”

Laura glances down at her outfit. She’s wearing an owl-print sweater and skinny jeans, an ensemble that had seemed cute in the morning. Now, it’s feeling rather shabby. She straightens in her seat and meets Carmilla’s gaze. “I’m not breaking any dress code, and I hardly think it’s appropriate to—“

“It’s funny that you mention the word appropriate, considering how you feel the need to interrupt a production meeting.” Carmilla’s eyelashes flutter, a gesture so small, and yet oh so mocking. “And you were the one to mention importance and deadlines.”

Laura jolts to her feet, her face heating. “I won’t stand here and be reprimanded like this.”

“Fine.” Karnstein leans back in her chair, the very image of boredom. “Send Kirk to take notes in your place.”

“…Do you mean Kirsch?”

“Do I look like I care?”

And so Laura leaves, fuming. Technically she’s gotten what she wanted, but as she yells at Kirsch to go and take notes for the she-beast, she can’t help but feel cheated, almost as if Carmilla had planned that entire argument. Despite arriving home earlier than expected, she’s not satisfied.

The next day is worse. Laura is still mad, so she purposefully wears the same owl sweater from the meeting. Karnstein doesn’t seem to notice. Kirsch is a good friend, and acts as a Carmilla corespondent while Laura does tasks away from the top floor, ensuring that Laura spends as little time near her boss as possible. This does nothing to calm Laura. She finds herself muttering under her breath as she organizes files on the fifth floor.

“I swear, she dresses like grunge had a love child with Vogue. Why should she make fun of my clothing?” Laura slams a drawer of files shut, then whirls around and yanks open another. “And she picks me, out of a room full of people who dress like the 90’s never died. Ms. Gladey was wearing a _Friends_ t-shirt.” She pulls out a file at random, puts it in a drawer with the corresponding number, and nearly chops off her finger when she slams it shut. “Never mind the fact that nobody else in that room wanted to be there either. We all wanted to go home! Why single me out? Because she’s a sadistic, entitled, psychotic, snobbish, conniving piece of—“

“Are you, uh, busy?”

Laura’s mind goes blank for two crucial seconds, wherein everything is a whirl of motion and panic. When she regains the ability to process her surroundings, she finds herself holding a stapler high in the air as a weapon, staring down at the IT assistant she literally ran into the other day. 

The girl has somehow managed to block her attack, and is holding Laura’s arm aloft with one hand, while centering her other at Laura’s chest in what looks like a prep position. A quick tap into the girl’s emotions surprises Laura. The IT girl’s entire aura is steely and focussed, calm with a sense of aggression. Laura quickly scrambles away, tugging to get out of her grip.

“Sorry!” Laura says with a laugh, placing the stapler down. “You surprised me!”

The girl blinks at her from behind large glasses, still unnaturally still, as if waiting for another attack. She looks a bit nerdish in a faded sweatshirt and jeans, but her posture screams power. “You moved fast,” she says simply.

Laura smiles. “Yeah, my self defense lessons kicked in.”

The girl stares.

“As did yours,” Laura prompts nervously. “You, uh, looked as though you were about to beat me up.”

And suddenly, the girl’s entire appearance shifts. Her shoulders relax and her expression snaps out of the freaky focus. She seems to shrink in on herself, embarrassed and awkward now that she’s being directly addressed.

But one more aura check sees through all that. She’s still calm and aggressive, though less on edge. Laura frowns. For some reason, this girl’s faking the whole nerdy, nervous IT act.

“Yeah, sorry,” she says, glancing away. “I studied martial arts a lot when I was a kid. I guess those skills never leave you.”

“What’s your name again?” Laura blurts. 

The girl blinks, then says, “Melanippe.”

“Oh.”

“But most people call me Mel.”

“Right.”

They both stare at each other.

“And you’re Laura Hollis,” Mel says, taking a step into the room.

Laura backs up a bit, not liking where this is going. “Uh, yeah. How did you know that?”

Mel looks at her as if she’s an idiot. “You’re Karnstein’s personal assistant, the one who talks back. Everyone knows who you are.”

Laura rolls her eyes and turns towards one of the filing cabinets, though her senses stay on high-alert. “Yeah, well, tell that to the number of people who step on me throughout the day. I just assume I’m invisible around here.”

“People ignore you out of self-preservation. No one wants to face Carmilla’s wrath.” When Laura glances at her in surprise, Mel looks down at her feet and tugs a strand of curly black hair. “I mean, that’s just what I’ve heard.”

“Right,” Laura says slowly. “So, were you sent to tell me something, or…?”

“Oh, yeah, um, Kirsch wants to see you? Something about a lost binder? The designs from the creative team meeting.”

Laura sighs, and opens a drawer. “Just tell Kirsch to send an intern after it, he should be able…” She trails off as she remembers something, a small binder that was handed to her. Her blood runs cold. “Mel, was there a design team meeting today?”

Mel, who must sense imminent danger, straightens her posture. “Yes.”

Laura stares off into space. _“Shit.”_

:

:

:

Running down hallways while yelling at Kirsch on the phone is a skill Laura has perfected during her two years time at _Capes and Masks._ It involves last minute dodges, helpless apologetic looks, and perfect diction.

“Why did you leave the building without telling me?!” Laura cries as she whirls around a corner at top speed.

“I forgot you were avoiding her today!” Kirsch sounds close to tears. “She needed me to pick up the skirts two hours ago, so I panicked, and left!”

“How do you know she wants the binder?” Laura slides through a passing clothes rack, pushing aside dresses and ignoring several angry shouts.

“Remember that girl I dated last fall? From talent managing?”

“The one who threatened to curse your next of kin if you ever looked at her again?”

“Yeah, Carol. She texted me. Karstein was asking for the binder.”

Laura sighs. “And no one knows where it is because I hid it in my desk and didn’t tell anyone.”

“Why did you do that?”

“To error is human.”

“But we work for Carmilla Karnstein.”

“Good point.” She hangs up, and dives through the closing doors of an elevator. When she reaches the top floor, Kirsch calls again.

Laura jogs to her desk, figuring now is not the time to worry about Karnstein’s “no run” rule. “What now?”

_“Karnstein needs you to handle the rest of her appointments today.”_

Laura nearly drops her phone, and the binder she’s pulling out of her desk. “What?! Are you crazy?!”

“No?” Kirsch asks.

“Wrong answer,” Laura snarls. She glares at a passerby, who looks at her too long. “Giving her the binder is one thing, but I can’t go in there are take notes! I’m still mad about yesterday!”

“Ok, I know, but can’t you just…get over it? For a couple of minutes?”

Laura leans against her desk and stares up at the ceiling. “Kirsch.”

“I’m sorry! I don’t know what to do.”

“Ok, just—don’t panic. I’ll take care of this. 

“Thank you!”

Laura grits her teeth. “Don’t thank me yet.” She has enough self control to hang up without throwing her phone across the room. The closed door to Carmilla’s office seems to mock her, calling her forward. 

She grabs a notebook and pen from her desk—Karnstein’s old-fashioned about the worst things—and readies herself for battle. Laura only has to stay at this job until the end of this year. After that, the only contact she’ll ever have with Carmilla Karnstein will be ignoring her face on magazine covers and billboards. (And in the occasional late-night fantasy, but Laura likes to pretend those don’t happen.) With the blue binder in one hand and her notebook in the other, Laura enters Karstein’s office with a plan to ignore any internalized anger.

This plan is forgotten as soon as she lays eyes on Karnstein, and is reminded that she hates her job, her boss, and anything to do with her job and her boss.

Carmilla is pacing the room, flipping through two folders and throwing papers to the floor. She doesn’t turn when Laura enters, but her pacing speed increases. “I called you in ten minutes ago to take notes,” she snaps, “yet here I am, waiting for a boy who can’t be bothered to do his—“ She finally looks up. Karnstein scowls. “Oh. It’s you.”

Laura almost throws the binder across the room. She settles for slamming it down on Karnstein’s desk. “Yep. It’s me.” Without waiting for an invitation, because she’d be waiting for an eternity, Laura stomps over to the bar and sits on a stool. 

Karnstein watches her. “I thought you were avoiding me today,” She actually looks curious at Laura’s answer.

“I have better handwriting than Kirsch.”

“I don’t care.”

“Seemed like you did.”

“I need some reminders,” Karstein says, changing the subject while clearly not giving a shit. She moves to her desk, types something on her laptop, then turns her head slightly in Laura’s direction to give the appearance of paying attention to the other person in the room while she’s actually actively ignoring them. “We’ll need to release a public statement about those reptile mutates that are running amuck. We’re working on a flexible, plated armor meant to be worn underneath a costume for any heroes in need of an extra barrier.” She pauses to mutter, “Of course if they were sufficient at their jobs, they wouldn’t need the extra armor.” 

Laura doesn’t write that part down. 

“Our social media presence will need to become more pronounced in the following weeks to gain a proper following for the convention. Whichever ingrate is running our Twitter account needs to stop retweeting Merryl Streep and actually promote the company.” 

Laura has to agree with her on that, though the reasoning behind the Merryl Streep tweets might have more to do with Twitter as an app and less to do with whoever was running it. Laura writes her notes quickly, slashing across the page with her pen as Carmilla talks without pause. It’s mind-numbing work, and Laura usually doesn’t pick up too many details, but when Karnstein says,

“Set a reminder to terminate Dazzle’s contract,”

Laura reacts. She stops mid-notes and says, _“What?”_

Dazzle was one of the first contracted superheroes in _Capes and Masks_ history _._ She’s amongst the top three most recognized superheroes in Canada and the U.S., and the only female superhero over the age of forty.

Laura likes Dazzle for an incredibly selfish reason. Back when Laura had first started working at _Capes and Masks,_ Dazzle had come in for a private meeting with Carmilla. Laura didn’t know much about the situation, only that Dazzle had rebuked any advances Carmilla had made on her. Laura’s boss had pouted for a week.

“Why are we terminating her contract?” Laura asks.

Karnstein raises an eyebrow. “We? Why are _we_ doing this? I was under the impression I have full executive control over any and all decisions.”

“I only meant—“

“You don't mean anything. You’re a personal assistant. You do what I say, you don’t question what I say, and at the end of the day you go home and read your battered copy of Pride and Prejudice before going to sleep at a reasonable hour.”

“I have Pride and Prejudice on audiobook,” Laura mutters.

“My word is law. You of all people should know this.” Karnstein turns away as though she’s provided a reasonable argument, and goes back to listing demands. Laura doesn’t lift her pen. She’s too busy thinking something over, working up the courage.

“I suppose I’m just curious,” she speaks up. Karnstein stops talking immediately. “To my knowledge, Dazzle has done nothing but good for _Capes and Masks._ She’s likable, she does plenty of interviews, and she donates to all our approved charities. And she saves kittens in her spare time.” Laura pauses to study Carmilla’s reaction before continuing, hesitantly. “It might look as though you’re firing her for personal reasons, which would be a serious public relations issue, as well as grounds for a lawsuit.”

A smile is all the warning Laura gets before Karnstein attacks. “I know you prefer to think of me as a vengeful hag who spends her nights plotting her next sexual adventure,” she says, her tone low and dangerous.

“I’ve never said that.”

“No. But I know my reputation just as well as you do.”

That’s fairly plausible. Word gets around, and word of Carmilla the Sexual Deviant has been getting around for a long time.

“If I must prove to you that I am not acting unjustly, you should know that I am terminating Dazzle’s contract in order to protect someone.”

Laura stares. 

“Dazzle has recently come forward with her real identity. She has the money to sufficiently hide herself and her loved ones, so it shouldn’t have mattered whether or not she continued to have an alter-ego. Somehow, the media failed to cover the restraining order Dazzle’s ex-girlfriend has leveled against her.” Karnstein pauses, either for dramatic affect, or to study Laura’s reaction. “The identity reveal was a power play, a subtle message that her ex can never hide from her.”

Laura feels a bit nauseous, and has to close her eyes for a moment. She’d never thought to check Dazzle’s emotional aura, to search for dangerous mindsets. 

How did Karnstein discover this? Did the girlfriend reach out to her? Did she put two-and-two together? Or did she simply research the restraining order? Laura suddenly has a certain understanding of how normal people feel when they look at superheroes. There are certain “activist” groups who call for the death of all supers, and although their actions are sickening and morally questionable, Laura supposes their underlying fear is not entirely unwarranted. A restraining order must seem like nothing but a flimsy piece of paper next to a powerful being. Dazzle’s girlfriend probably feels no safer now than before.

“Despite what others think, I have enough control over this company to choose whether or not I value ethical behavior over sales. I will not have abusers representing us.”

Laura opens her eyes, surprised. Karstein is staring at her with a strange level of intent. Laura doesn’t know how to proceed. She doubts she will ever understand who Carmilla is as a person, but for the first time, she sort of wants to.

As soon as Laura realizes this, Karnstein must decide she’s gotten her point across. She nods to herself, and leans back against her desk. “Moving on from that topic, I think it’s time we discuss your behavior,” she says in a much lighter tone.

“My behavior?”

Karnstein’s lips quirk. “Yes. You consider yourself to be an independent spirit, or something equally disillusioned. I have tolerated your back-talk and attitude because it amuses me. That being said, your insistence on undermining the simplest of orders is boring.”

Gone are the warm fuzzy thoughts about understanding her boss, Laura is now in full panic mode. She knows where this is going, she can see it in Karnstein’s self-satisfied smile. She’s about to be fired. 

Wait, if she acts fast, she might be able to change Carmila’s mind. Maybe remind her of all the things she’s done for her? How hard it is to get another assistant at Laura’s level? No, this is Carmilla Karnstein, she’ll have no problem hiring an assistant with much better work experience. What about begging? No, she can’t stoop to that, but a bit of pleading never hurt anyone.

Then Laura thinks about yesterday’s meeting.

_Fuck it._

“Shut up,” she says, clearly and cheerfully.

Carmilla blinks, her smile freezing on her face.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. You always know just how far you can push people before they snap, I’m no exception. If I give you any attitude around the work place, it’s only in response to the utter lack of respect you show me on a daily basis. I don’t know if it’s me, or if you’re mad that I don’t look like your past assistants, but you treat me like crap and I’m _done.”_

She rises from her stool, her blood pressure rising with her. Karnstein still hasn’t said anything.

Laura holds her head high. “I don’t like working here, anyways. This whole business is an utter sham, a way to make money out of something that once had a chance of actually helping people. Aren’t superheroes supposed to save the world instead of, I don’t know, selling someone a bag of Cheetos?! This is all ridiculous, a waste of time and money.” She tosses her notebook and pen to the side, not caring where it lands. Laura feels vindicated, free, but mostly pissed.

Meanwhile, Karnstein’s expression has changed from mild shock to sudden realization. She’s silent as she brings her fingers to her lips, just barely smirking. It’s a bit of a wait before she says, “Okay, I see. You think this has nothing to do with you.”

Laura stares.

“Let me ask you something.” She glances down Laura’s body. “That sweater you’re wearing, why did you buy it?”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t like repeating myself.”

“I don’t know why I bought it, I just liked it.”

“You liked it.”

“That’s what I said.”

“It appealed to you. You appreciated it. A lumpy little sweater with a bunch of owls printed on it.”

“Look, if you’re just going to criticize my fashion choices again—“

Karnstein cuts her off, her voice suddenly sharp. “You may think that sweater is special. It’s different, certainly. You’d be hard pressed to find anyone with that same sweater in this building. The sweater is a statement, for you. You’re trying to tell the world that you take yourself too seriously to care about what you put on your back.” She pushes herself off her desk, and slowly moves towards Laura. “You’ve worked at a fashion magazine for over a year. You know that I criticize your outfits on a regular basis, but you have yet to change your wardrobe. You’re stubborn.” Karnstein pauses her advance, standing only a few feet away, and says, “You think you’re throwing a tiny rebellion.” She sounds almost fond. “But I know you.”

Laura takes a step back.

Karnstein clears her throat, and sounds bored again. “Or, I know people like you. You have lots of anger, but you have no real cause to rally behind. That sweater is manufactured, sold, and purchased by the thousands. For you, the sweater is a giant middle finger to this entire industry. You’re forgetting that this industry has more purpose than perceived vanity.”

Laura, desperate to gain any footing in this, tries to speak up. “I don’t understand what you mean,” she says, inwardly cursing the tremble in her voice.

“You’re a clever girl, surely you’ll figure it out.” Karnstein pivots, turning her back to Laura. She kicks at a few loose papers on the ground. “You talk as though _Capes and Masks,_ and companies like it, lower the standards of superheroes everywhere. You fail to realize that there’s no such thing as a superhero.”

Despite herself, Laura laughs. “Are you kidding me?!”

Karnstein doesn’t turn around, but still shakes her head. “Superheroes are people, Hartford. No person has ever been a hero. The only difference between, say, Aquamarine Girl and a hot dog vender is that Aquamarine Girl can drown the people she finds annoying. It’s only by luck, of course, that she chooses not to.” She bends over to pick up a piece of paper, and Laura quickly looks away. “What if the hot dog vender were given her same powers? Would he be a superhero, a villain, or carry on with his life? People like you have to understand that no one is special just because they are given powers. They’re privileged, and like any privilege, they have the power to hurt and destroy. I don’t trust any of them, and neither should you.”

Silence. Laura, who has no ideal what the hell is going on, just stares at her boss—ex-boss? She doesn’t know. Karnstein studies the paper she holds, and then in one quick motion, rips it in half.

She sighs, high-pitched and bored. “But, I brand them. By branding them, I hold them accountable for their actions. I add meaning to the name ‘superhero’, a word so stupidly ridiculous that it can’t be legally found on any official document. Bring people into the public eye and they subsequently take on a huge responsibility to maintain public respect. We give them a platform on which to speak, to be heard and understood and trusted. It’s a way of taking power away from superheroes and giving it to the powerless.”

“You sound like one of those crazy people, the anti-supers.”

Karnstein shakes her head. “They’re disillusioned. Just because I can’t trust someone doesn’t mean I can’t see them for what they are—people. Most of them try their best.”

“I don’t see how my sweater fits into all this,” Laura says, because someone has to.

Karnstein’s smile widens, turns more mocking. “Branding is more than selling someone a product. It’s an expression, a way of saying something.” She looks at Laura. “You’re trying very hard to say something with that owl sweater.”

Laura swallows.

“You hate this company and what it stands for. Only supers with money get the deals, only those already in the spotlight get the publicity, and the rest are left to fend for themselves. You refuse to acknowledge the business end of things, because _everything_ is a business. There is no good, there is no evil, and there’s nothing you or your sweater can do about it.” She takes a step towards Laura. “You wear what you wear to tell others that you don’t care about their expectations of you, not knowing that you yourself are buying into the very thing you are rebelling against. You are branding yourself, you are enjoying the attention it gives you, and you are profiting off that attention.

“How many times have you told someone you’re above all of this? That your boss is a shallow, demonic bitch who profits off of something she doesn’t believe in?” Carmilla pauses to laugh. “No, I’m much worse than that. It’s _because_ I believe in this that I’m able to profit off it.” She spreads her arms wide. “I stand here as the one true example of a realist.”

Hearing this speech, one would think she has said it before. One would think she has said it a million times. Laura has never felt the need to use the made-up verb “monologuing” until now.

And yet, she can spot a huge flaw. “You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not.”

Laura shrugs. “Okay, maybe you’re not, but I don’t think you’re that stupid.” Carmilla starts to frown. “If there’s no good and evil, what about Dazzle? You said you will not have abusers representing your magazine, and that you value ethical morality over sales. If you truly think nothing matters, that there’s no such thing as evil, why protect Dazzle’s ex?” Feeling bold, Laura steps into Karnstein’s personal space. “You may think you know me, but I know more about you than you could ever imagine.”

Karnstein’s gaze doesn’t falter. “Do tell.”

“You don’t give a shit about this magazine, but you’re here. It’s not out of laziness. Your mom gave you the job. You’re not much older than me, you can’t expect anyone to believe you worked your way to this position. But you didn’t take it for the easy money” Laura smiles, enjoying this more than she should. “She’s holding something over you. You can’t escape whatever empire she’s built for your family. So, you do the best you can while you’re here, but you hate everything because of it.”

Then, something amazing happens. For just one second, Karnstein’s mask falls. A nerve’s been hit.

Laura, suddenly pissed again, steps back and starts to laugh. “I don’t like you! But I still respect you, because time after time you prove that you have a moral code, you help people, and it infuriates the hell out of me! S _tick to your archetype!”_

“…My what?”

“You know. The brooding, leather-clad, philosophic nihilist who hates everybody.” 

Carmilla smirks.

Laura flushes. “Whatever, ignore that. Just…you can’t tell me there’s no good in the world and then go around trying to do good. Maybe I’m branding myself, and just _maybe_ I’m being hypocritical with my outfit choices, but I have standards. You do too, whether you like it or not.”

At the end of her speech, Laura is breathing heavily. She feels no better off than she did at the start of this, perhaps just a bit more embarrassed. She hadn’t realized how strongly she felt about all this. Evidently, neither did Carmilla, who’s still smirking at her with an odd look in her eye. 

Nervous, Laura takes a peek at Karnstein’s emotional aura. What she sees shocks her. Waves of warm, blue fondness emanate towards Laura, though they’re not entirely directed at her. The fond feelings are somehow connected to memories, so it all looks very reminiscent. 

Then, the blue is replaced with fear, and pops of bright anger.

_Oh shit._

“Get out of my office.”

Laura deflates. “Yeah. Makes sense.” She glances down at the pen and notebook she tossed to one side, and moves to pick them up. “Should I just leave these at my desk, or…?”

“What?” Karstein hisses.

“I mean, I’m going to be clearing out my desk, but these don’t belong to me, so… Wait, am I fired?”

“Get out.”

“Is that a yes, or—“

“No.”

“So I’m not fired.”

_“Yes.”_

“Oh.” Laura pauses, then asks, “Really?” 

“Get out of my damn office!”

Laura scurries for the door. 

_“I don’t want to see your face a week!”_ Karnstein yells after her.

Kirsch is standing at his desk, going through twelve bags full of skirts. As Laura approaches at top speed, he lifts his head. “I just got back! I’m so sorry about that, it was entirely my fault, I won’t do that—Hey, are you alright? What happened? What did she do?”

Laura deposits the notebook and pen at her desk, gives Kirsch a look, takes her lunch, and leaves. She doesn’t come back to work for the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. So. I wrote the famous "blue sweater" scene from the movie The Devil Wears Prada in this chapter. I had fun with it, especially tweaking it towards Carmilla's mindset.
> 
> The reason I took so long with this chapter is because I really like this fic, and tbh, I like it so much it's beginning to scare me. I'm terrified of fucking it up. However, I also love this fandom. We're small, but we care deeply. And I love all of you and this story I'm writing.
> 
> On another note, IF Y'ALL HAVEN'T WATCHED THE TRAILER FOR THE MOVIE, HOLY FUCKING SHIT IT'S SO LIT.


	5. An Eventful Lunch Break

_Capes and Masks_ is attacked on October 14th, two days after Laura’s talk with Karnstein. 

Laura spends these two days with heightened “super senses,” a phrase coined by LaFontaine. Essentially, Laura’s on high alert. Her hearing range spans to a two mile radius when she’s putting in effort. Technically a 1.7 mile radius, but LaF rounds up, believing Laura can reach two miles while in a peaceful mindset. Considering Laura’s life, the possibility of achieving a peaceful mindset is a superhero anomaly in itself. 

Heightened senses include smell, touch, eyesight, and general spatial awareness. With a bit of concentration, Laura is able to focus on her eyesight and hearing, meaning she’s nearly constantly aware of Karnstein’s position in the building. This level of concentration is no small feat, and pretty much saps Laura’s energy in the form of excruciating headaches. When she comes home after the second day with a nosebleed, LaF, Perry, and J.P. host an intervention.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” J.P. scolds her, which is usually Perry’s job, but he’s in a mood.

Laura has her head tilted back and a wad of tissues shoved up one nostril. She shrugs at the ceiling. “I need to avoid Karnstein.”

“But at what cost?!”

“I was almost fired.”

“How does that—“

“I can’t be fired, not after two years of dealing with the same ridiculous agenda. I want to keep my job so I can get my recommendation, and I want to start writing. So, I’m going to avoid Karnstein.”

“But—“

“She said she doesn’t want to see my face for a week. I still need to go into the building to do my job, but she can’t see my face.”

_“Then put a paper bag over your head!”_ J.P. explodes, practically jumping off the couch. “You can’t keep this up for a week!”

Laura takes out the tissue wad, winces, then holds out a hand. Perry hands her a fresh pile and says, “Should have used a tampon.”

“We’re out.” Laura grabs the mini trash can shaped like Elmo, and silently apologizes to the Sesame Street resident when she tosses her bloody tissues into his mouth. “We have to buy more, which means we need money, which means I need to contribute. Thus, I need to keep my job.”

J.P. makes a whining noise, and begins to pace the length of the living room. It doesn’t take long, considering the size of the apartment. 

Laura watches him. “Your mom still thinks you live alone. In your own apartment. And that you work for a major tech firm. The money she sends is only enough to cover one person’s needs.”

“Barely,” LaF mutters, but shuts up when J.P. throws them a glare.

Their current money handling schedule is…strange. Perhaps stranger than the average group of millennials. Perry somehow managed to take over the bakery under the apartment after a year of working there, meaning she also inherited all of the bakery’s financial needs. J.P.’s mother’s money and the money he earns as a website designer goes directly to the bakery. The bakery profit goes to funding LaFontaine’s research, which usually leads to money in surprising ways. LaFontaine also works weekends as a bartender for a monster themed tourist trap on Main Street. That money, combined with whatever Laura earns, goes to rent and basic needs. Somehow, they scrape by.

The real perk of all this is J.P.’s family. Their mysterious tech company has a ton of prototypes for J.P. to use and modify, so long as he keeps lying to his mom about his life. So Laura’s superhero gadgets have a steady, though somewhat unethical, supplier. 

The gang is particularly tired this week. Perry’s dealing with major Halloween party deliveries, now that she’s trying to start up a catering business to make more ends meet. LaF is helping her, while staying up late testing the lizard-men samples. J.P. is a bit more stressed than usual. The holidays are fast approaching, meaning he’ll need to think of a good excuse for not going home to see his family. 

And Laura…well, Laura’s issues remain the same. Keeping up with superhero responsibilities and trying not to get killed by her boss. She’s surprisingly bad at both of these.

“Hey, uh, maybe we should stop giving Laura the third degree,” LaF speaks up, looking at J.P. and Perry. “We’ve all had a long day. Probably could use some rest.”

Everyone stares. They all must look terrible for LaFontaine to point it out. LaF usually pushes until someone faints.

LaFontaine gets up and offers Laura a hand. She hesitantly takes it, allowing herself to be pulled off the couch. LaF starts the process of building the couch bed. Despite how uncomfortable the mattress is, they insist on sleeping on it, ignoring the pleas from everyone else about rotating sleeping positions. (They have a bed, a cot, and a couch to split between the three of them.)

As Laura starts to shuffle off to shower, J.P. calls after her. “Are you going to keep working your senses like that?”

Laura doesn’t stop in her tracks. “I’ll take it easy. Kirsch will make sure I don’t pass out on the job.” She reaches the door before saying, “Again.”

J.P. lets out a small groan as she leaves the room.

Laura had hoped this unnecessary intervention would be the most exciting part of her week. She’s dead wrong. The next day brings forth events which throw Laura for a loop, and pretty much set the course for the horrible things to follow.

It starts at lunch hour. 

Of course, Carmilla Karnstein’s assistants don’t get what one would refer to as a “lunch hour”. It usually consists of Laura eating a sandwich as fast as she can before Kirsch texts her in a panic, asking for aide in whatever mid-day crisis they must deal with. On certain memorable occasions, Karnstein sends Laura out to pick up her food and bring it back, within a fifteen minute time limit. Laura is always the one who’s situated with this daunting task, because when Kirsch first attempted this, he nearly spilled a bowl of stew all over Karnstein’s desk. _Nearly._ If he’d actually done it, he wouldn’t have lived to tell the tale. 

The food fetching is Laura’s job now.

Today, Karnstein has requested an ultra rare steak from a nearby grill. (Rare enough for visible blood to swamp the plate.) Laura, who is still avoiding her boss, gets this request from a note on her desk.

_When you’ve returned from whatever hole you’ve been burrowing in,_

_I want a steak._

_Extremely rare._

_—K_

Laura’s moving down the sidewalk at a brisk pace, gingerly holding the steak plate in one hand, and glaring at the note in the other. She always hates it when someone signs something with a letter. Initials are fine, but a single letter is just openly pretentious in a way Laura can’t quite understand.

No, wait, there’s something else about the note that bugs her. The handwriting. She’s never seen Karnstein write anything down before. In fact, this might be the first time she’s seen her boss’ script. The loopy, elegant letters are familiar, which doesn’t make sense.

A thought begins to surface. A crazy thought. Laura slows in her walk, to the annoyance of the people behind her. She’s known where she’s seen this handwriting before, and—

_“Fire!”_

Someone’s running at her. They look panicked. Laura has enough time to step out of the way, and the person keeps moving.

Laura closes her eyes and casts out her senses, mentally diving through a sea of people, ignoring the smells and sounds in her immediate surroundings. She’s searching for smoke, for a flash of light, for a spark. Something flickers, and she narrows in. It’s gray and dense, clogging the air and—

She snaps back to herself, coughing so hard her chest hurts. Stumbling backwards into the crowd, Laura is pushed to the wall of a building. Her breath comes in painful wheezes, burring her throat with each gasp. That wasn’t smoke, that was gas.

An alarm blares in the distance. Laura’s head snaps up, her eyes watering. The steak plate crashes to the ground. The Karnstein building is in trouble.

Laura moves before she can think. Emergency vehicles are on their way, but she has about two minutes to get to the building before her path is blocked. Even so, she has to push and shove and shout to get through the crowd. Some are starting to realize that something is wrong, and are pointing at the Karnstein building. From two blocks away, the windows look gray and cloudy, and people are rushing out the doors in droves. 

Laura has the sense to dive into an alleyway, and rummage through her purse for the cowl she usually packs for emergencies. She comes up empty handed. Cursing, Laura runs back into the street with the knowledge she’ll have nothing to protect her identity if she uses her powers.

Still, she has to help. 

It’s a challenge to get to the doors, with so many people leaving. They stagger out in groups, coughing and retching all over the sidewalk. Some are standing upright, and are helping others get further away. As Laura moves closer, she notices the stronger ones are women dressed in black body suits and silver face masks. Most of them have quivers of arrows slung onto their backs. 

This is not Laura’s first run in with the Summer Society. She’s already not looking forward to this.

“What’s going on?!” She shouts at one.

“Get away from the premises, civilian,” the girl orders in the strange, ethereal voice modifier the Summers use. “We’re handling this. Get to safety.”

Laura glares up at her. “Look, I was only gone for ten minutes, you need to tell me what—“

Someone screams. Glass shatters from overhead. Laura reacts instantly, pushing the Summer Society girl out of the way of the falling shards. The girl, surprised, grabs Laura and spins her around in a headlock. 

“Of for god’s sake—let me go! The glass! Look up!” Laura cries.

Above them, a Summer is using a rope to climb down the side of the building. She has a limp body slung over one shoulder. The girl holding Laura lets go, and rushes to help the other Summer down. It takes Laura a moment to realize the limp body is Kirsch.

The redheaded girl carrying him slowly lowers him to the ground. “He’s delirious, but he should be fine,” she says in the same voice modifier.

Kirsch moans, looks up at his savior, and says, “You’re pretty.”

“And you’re drugged,” she replies.

Laura hurries forward to kneel at Kirsch’s side. She presses her fingers to his neck to establish a quick healing connection. Besides a few bruises on his knees, he’s not badly injured.She can’t do much about his delirium at the moment.

“What are you doing here?!” The redheaded Summer cries.

Laura looks at her, and inwardly curses. It’s that Summer girl she’s seen a few times, the one she may or may not have a crush on. Somewhere, LaF is laughing their ass off about Laura’s affinity for redheads. “What’s going on?” Laura says, reminding herself of the situation.

“You need to get to a safe distance.” The girl grabs her by the shoulders and hauls her to her feet.

Laura jerks away, her temper flaring. “No, what I _need_ is for someone to tell me what the hell just happened here!”

“It’s pretty self-explanatory.” A woman with curly black hair steps into Laura’s line of sight. She’s wearing the same Summer Society bodysuit as the others, but hers is silver instead of black. She moves with extreme self-assurance, head held high and hips swaying as she approaches. Laura is face-to-face with the president of the Silas City Summer Society.

But president or not, Laura’s still not getting answers. “What do you mean self-explanatory?” She demands.

The president looks her over, dark eyes unexpressive behind a black mask. “I mean the building has been gassed, kid. We’re helping the last few stragglers.”

“Who gassed the building?! I was only gone for—“

“Ten minutes. I heard.” Despite the modifier, the woman sounds bored.

Desperately fighting the urge to scream, Laura steps towards the woman. “Look, I work here. I’d like to know why my job was attacked, and why the Summer Society is involved.”

The president raises her head by a fraction. “You know who we are.”

“A bunch of buff ladies in ninja suits and masks. Who else could you be?”

“Kyoshi warriors,” Kirsch mumbles from the ground.

“Why was the Karnstein building gassed?” Laura talks over him.

The redheaded Summer huffs. “Because your boss—“

“Sure, let’s tell Nancy Drew everything. Use your discretion, agent,” the president snaps.

The girl quiets down, though she doesn’t look happy about it.

Laura begins to debate her options. She could keep pressing for answers, get nowhere, then do some private investigative work later. Of course, she runs the risk of any evidence being destroyed in the hours she’s forced to wait. She could simply walk away, and let the Summers handle everything. They’re certainly capable of dealing with disasters. Yet, what kind of superhero would Laura be if she just let something like this slip under her radar?

As she’s considering this, Kirsch starts to groan. When no one pays attention to him, he tugs on Laura’s pant leg. She looks down into his wide eyes as he says, “Carmilla.”

Laura immediately turns to the redhead. “Karnstein. Where is she?”

The girl shakes her head. “I didn’t—“

Laura turns to the president. “Have you seen her?!”

“Miss Prim and Pale? Nope.“

Blood rushes to her head, and the world spins on its axis. Laura’s immediately wrenched away from reality as an unnatural panic consumes her senses. There’s a voice, separate from her own inner monologue, that begins to shout at her.

_“She’s in danger! You didn’t save her, you let her DIE! How could you?! Her death is yourfault, how dare you?!”_

The voice continues, raging a full screaming tantrum inside Laura’s head. Carmilla Karnstein is in danger, Carmilla Karnsein died, it’s Laura’s fault, it’s Laura’s fault she’s going to die, it’s Laura’s fault she’s dead, it’s happening again and there’s nothing she can do, she’s helpless, they’ll both be dead by the end, why even bother going through the charade if it only leads to—

Other voices join in. Voices she recognizes. Voices of her friends.

_“And it will continue to happen! It won’t stop! We’ll be stuck in the loop and—“_

_“Maybe it’ll work out this time! Maybe we can figure it out, stop her before—“_

_“I’VE DIED FOR THIS BEFORE! I’LL DIE FOR IT AGAIN!”_

_“No! You can’t leave me! You can’t leave us!”_

_“Laura, help me!”_

The last one is Karnstein, Laura’s sure of it. Somehow, somewhere, Carmilla is calling for Laura to help her.

“Uh, Lois Lane? You okay?”

Laura opens her eyes. Three Summer Society members, and one delirious Kirsch, are staring at her in concern. (Well, Kirsch is just staring at her, since he can’t do much else.) Laura’s suddenly aware she’s squatting on the ground with her arms over her head. 

“Laura, deep breaths, it’s alright,” the redhead is saying. She moves towards Laura slowly, holding out her hands. “Karnstein left when the gas started. She went home. She’s fine.” Laura’s not convinced. The redhead can tell. “Don’t do anything stupid,” she says, shifting closer.

Laura stares at her, then glances towards the doors of the building.

Blue eyes widen behind a mask. “Laura, NO!”

Laura’s running for the doors at top speed. 

One of the benefits of being small is her ability to run through large groups of people with little notice on their part, at least until after she’s already passed them. She gets inside before the president can alert the Summers. Laura’s about to attempt something J.P. calls “sense and rescue,” and Perry calls, “Laura running around with her bat ears and dog nose”. They’re both right. Laura casts her senses out as she runs for the elevators, drawing back significantly on her scent. Her lungs are extremely powerful, she could probably last about fifteen minutes in this gas, but it’s very thick and easily constricts her breathing. She focusses on sound. Sure enough, there’s a civilian on the top floor.

Laura watches the elevator doors close, blocking out the angry Summers running towards her. She doesn’t know how much time she has before the straggler—Carmilla—passes out. Hopefully it’s not within the next five minutes, since the elevator is taking forever. 

When she finally reaches the top floor, the doors open to a wall of gas. Whoever set off the gas bombs had probably started at the highest point, which doesn't make sense to Laura. If they wanted to do the most damage, why start at the top floor? And make it easy for people to escape to the lower floors?

Well, easy for everyone but Carmilla Karnstein, who’s still conscious for some reason. Laura can hear her stomping and swearing in her office.

“Ms. Karnstein?” Laura calls out, then immediately regrets it as she begins to cough uncontrollably. She stumbles forward, moving past overturned desks and chairs from the panicked escapees. Holding her sleeve over her mouth, Laura tries not to breath too deeply. 

Up ahead, Karnstein is muttering under her breath. “Of course she wouldn’t keep it in the locked safe, because that would be too _simple.”_ There’s a loud crash as something is thrown across the room. “Curse Mattie and her constant meddling!”

“Ms. Karnstein!” Laura shouts again despite her burning throat and eyes.

Karnstein stops moving for a moment. Then, resumes her frantic search at an increased speed

Laura reaches the office door, and flings it open. “We need to get out of here! Now!”

Karnstein appears as a blurry figure within a sea of gas. She’s yanking drawers out of her desk and tossing them to the floor when she doesn’t find what she’s looking for. “Why the rush, Hickory?” She mutters.

“Maybe it’s just me, but I’d rather not suffocate to death on poisonous gas.”

“Then leave.”

“You’re coming with me!”

“Am I?”

Laura lets out a small, frustrated scream. “Can you drop the performative apathy for ten seconds?!” She shouts, then bends over as she lapses into another fit of coughing. 

Karnstein pauses in her search. “You need to leave,” she says in an odd tone.

“Not…without you,” Laura wheezes.

Two dark eyes, unnaturally bright when surrounded by gas, glare at Laura. Karnstein approaches, grabbing Laura by the shoulders and spinning her around to face the door. “Out. Now.”

Laura tries to pull away, but finds that Karnstein is surprisingly strong. “No,” she says.

“You need to—“

“No, you need to come with me!”

“I sent you out, why couldn’t you stay away?!” Karnstein hisses in her ear.

Laura hesitates, then turns her head to stare at Karnstein over her shoulder. “You sent me out to get your lunch…because you knew this was going to happen?”

Karnstein stares back, her face revealing nothing. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you’re implying—“

“I don’t have time for this!” Karnstein suddenly pulls away, storming back to her desk. Laura is left to stare after her, softly coughing into one fist. The cough is a reminder of the situation. As much as Laura would like to continue this particular conversation, time is working against them.

Karnstein has started to mutter again. “She tells me that it’s in my office, but doesn’t tell me where, because it’s all just some big game to her and she loves to remain in control—“ 

“What are you looking for?”

Laura’s ignored, because of course she is. Karnstein, frustrated, kicks at her desk and sends it toppling over. Laura jumps back, and a decorative skull rolls to a stop in front of her feet. Her inner literary nerd nearly laughs at the symbolism.

“Oh.” Karnstein says. 

She’s staring at a spot on the floor which had previously been covered by the desk. Laura looks, but can barely make out details through her watering eyes. Not to mention how she seems to be slowly losing consciousness. 

Karnstein sighs, “This is just ridiculous,” and bends to open a small panel. She pulls a scroll out of a compartment. An actual, old looking, yellow stained scroll.

“Okay,” Laura says. “Can we go now?”

“You can.”

Something inside Laura snaps, propelling her forward in a battle march. Despite her weakened, gas-riddled state, she still manages to haul Carmilla over her shoulder, heels and all. 

Karnstein, besides her loud anger, doesn’t struggle, which is a blessing. The woman’s deceptively heavy, and Laura starts to sweat as she makes her way out of the office and towards the elevators.

_“Goddammit Hollent, put me down before I fire you!”_ Karnstein shouts.

“You can’t fire me if you’re dead,” Laura shoots back, her voice low and scratchy.

“You’ll be dead too! You’re breathing this gas!”

“I can handle it.”

“How?!”

“I do a lot of yoga, my lungs are super strong.”

“That fails to offer any sort of explanation—FUCKING SHIT!”

Laura’s now jogging for the elevator, keeping a heavy control of her breathing so she doesn’t start to wheeze. Karnstein’s swearing at her, telling her to stop running for fucks’ sake before she kills them both, that she wants be put down because she is perfectly capable of walking by herself, goddammit.

“Not in those heels you aren’t,” Laura grunts, and she can practically feel Karnstein’s blood temperature rise.

They’re halfway to the elevator when Laura stumbles. She tries to catch herself, but her leg buckles under the strain, sending both her and Karnstein to the ground. It’s a slow fall, neither of them are seriously hurt.

“Wonderful,” Karnstein mutters, rubbing the side of her thigh she landed on.

Laura would say something if she wasn’t afraid of coughing again. Her lungs can only last a few more minutes. 

“Horell?”

Laura can barely see anything. Her hunch about the gas coming from this floor is proving to be true. With each passing second, more and more fumes fill the air.

“Holly, if you die on me, you’re fired.”

She doubts she has the strength to last until they reach the bottom floor. The Summers haven’t arrived, which might mean there’s something wrong with the elevator. They will be scaling the building to get to the top, but Laura doesn’t know how long that will take, and she can’t trust herself or Karnstein to last.

_“Hollis!”_

The shock of hearing Karnstein refer to her by her actual last name is enough to get Laura’s attention. She can only see the outline of Karnstein’s body, hunched on the floor to her right. 

_“_ You’re losing consciousness,” Karnstein’s voice tells her. “You need to get out of here.”

Laura personally agrees, but she’s not leaving without Carmilla. 

Karnstein must sense this, because she says, “Oh for fuck’s sake,” and stands. 

Laura finds herself being lifted off the ground by her armpits, and one of her arms thrown around Karnstein’s shoulders for support. They start to move, not towards the elevator, but to a door which leads to a stairwell which leads to…

“The roof,” Laura croaks.

Even without her sight, Laura knows Karnstein is rolling her eyes.

The stumble forward. Though she’s not as bad as Laura, Karnstein is beginning to show signs of the gas affecting her. Her movements are slowing, and her breathing turns heavy as they hobble through the toxic cloud. Laura suffers a vague, crazed thought of breathing enough gas for LaF to test when they discover her body.

Through some miracle, they reach the door without either of them dying. The air starts to become more breathable as they make their way up the stairs. Laura regains some of her strength towards the top, and pushes forward with renewed energy.

They’re almost to the exit when something grabs Laura’s attention. “Do you hear something?” She asks, with the full knowledge that after today she probably won’t be able to speak for a full week.

Carmilla huffs out a small laugh, and doesn’t stop moving. “Sweetheart, I’m not too focussed on my hearing at the moment.”

Laura ignores that. She can definitely hear something, a loud roar coming from outside. She can’t focus her senses to investigate, for fear of becoming overwhelmed by the gas behind her.

She grits her teeth, and pushes her shoulder against the door at the top of the stairs. She hates going in blind.

Laura and Karnstein stumble out onto the roof. The clean air is a shock to the lungs, and Laura is quick to shut the door behind them. “We made it!” She cries, panting. “We did it, we’re okay!”

Of course, Karnstein chooses this exact moment to collapse.

Laura rushes forward, kneeling at her side. Karnstein managed to catch herself before she hit the ground—well, roof—on her elbows, which must have hurt like hell. She’s breathing far heavier than Laura. The time she spent in the gas chamber must be doing its damage. 

She’s barely conscious, and is weakly trying to push Laura’s hands away. “No, ‘m fine,” she slurrs.

“Like hell you are, Karnstein.” Laura attempts pushing up the sleeves of her boss’ sweater. She needs skin-to-skin contact on top of a heavy pulse to get any sort of healing done. 

Karnstein hums to herself. “Hmm. You forgot the ‘Miss’ in front of the Karnstein. Feels naked without it.” Then, because she’s either insane or high off the gas, she starts to laugh.

Laura’s having trouble getting the sleeve up, because the sweater’s skin-tight. She suffers through three more seconds of struggling before giving up and pressing her fingers to Karnstein’s neck.

The affect is immediate. Karnstein arches her back, her laughter cut off with a sharp intake of breath. Her eyes fly open, and her pupils shrink to pinpricks as she stares up at the sky with an open mouth. Meanwhile, Laura has to bite her lip to keep from crying out in pain, as an electric jolt flies up her arm. The shock quickly softens to something warm and tingly, relaxing tense muscles and settling deep in her gut. 

Karnstein sighs, closes her eyes, and falls into complete unconscious.

Laura stares down at her. “What.”

She’s never had this experience when healing someone. There’s usually a warm, tingly sensation, but it’s never strong, and never lasts more than a brief second. The feeling is slowly fading, but it was strong enough to distract Laura from the reason she had touched Karnstein in the first place.

To her surprise, there’s nothing to heal besides a few bruises, and Laura can’t find the reason why Karnstein is unconscious. The lungs are fine, there’s no brain damage, oxygen intake is a bit low, but nothing too drastic. She would be able to sense if panic or shock caused this, so why—

Her hand’s glowing.

Laura jerks away from Karnstein with a small gasp. The glow immediately fades away. She stares at her hand, wondering if the gas had hallucinatory properties. She’s never done _that_ before either.

The sound of approaching helicopter blades draws her attention away, revealing itself to be the roar that Laura heard earlier. A chopper is flying towards the Karnstein building. It has the Summer’s symbol on the side.

“This day keeps getting better and better,” she mutters to herself, cradling Karnstein close and waving down the helicopter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I know it's been forever since I've posted, and there are MANY reasons for that. However, I'm gonna promise not to go that long without posting again. This chapter was meant to be longer, but I decided to post it early as a little xmas gift.
> 
> What did you think? Who was that mysteriously and obviously familiar redheaded Summer? What's with that scroll Karnstein had? Why did Laura and Carmilla react like that when Laura tried to heal her? What the fuck is up with the glowing? Does the author know the answer to all these questions? I SURE HOPE SO!
> 
> (also did y'all see the movie cuz i did and i loved it holy shit)


	6. Back to Work

Laura finishes buckling her seatbelt in the helicopter, and someone throws a purse at her head.

It falls in her lap, and she immediately recognizes it as her own. Across from her, the President of the Summers glares through her mask. It’s clear that Laura’s in some deep shit.

But the president has nothing on Perry, who has left her a total of 64 voice mails and one 147 text messages. Upon seeing this, Laura immediately shoves her phone back into her purse, as if not looking at the screen will make the messages go away. If she wasn’t already in trouble yesterday for overextending her powers, she’s going to be locked up for running into a dangerous situation without her costume, teammates, or any preparation. 

And now she’s sitting in a Summer Society helicopter.

Laura had her first run-in with the Summers when someone tried to rob Perry’s bakery a year and a half ago. She’d been there to stop it, but one of the goons got away. She chased him down, only to find the redheaded Summer tying him to a telephone pole. Laura’s gay little heart had been entranced.

No one really knows who the Summers are, other than they’re a heavily secretive female run organization. They’re highly skilled, especially considering the only firearms they carry are bows and arrows. The president of the Summer Society has made her appearance a few times in local media outlets in Silas City. She’s the president of a sector, whatever that means. Laura figures she answers to someone higher up on the food chain. 

In the past, Laura has found the Summers to be powerful, but somewhat difficult to work with. They’re like soldiers, so it’s hard to get them to do anything without them getting permission first. They often look down on small superheroes like Laura, and usually tell her to wait on the side-lines while they take care of business. Laura wouldn’t put it past them to have their own secret agenda, considering all the “clean-up” work they do. Still, the Summers are efficient at their jobs, and Laura can’t help but admire them.

She doubts the feeling’s mutual. The President continues to give her death glares as they rise in the sky. Next to her, the redheaded Summer is also staring at Laura, though she looks slightly less mad. 

Karnstein is in the back, with a Summer who has a medical badge on her bodysuit. Laura’s got her senses trained on them, keeping an eye out for any sign of abnormality. Laura’s concentrating so hard on this that it takes her a moment to realize that the helicopter is still climbing high into the sky. 

“Where are we going?!” She shouts.

“The hospital!” The redhead replies, her voice modifier mixing weirdly with the helicopter's blades. 

Laura leans out in her seat a bit, to take a look at the city below. They probably are going to a hospital, for Karnstein, but her dad’s warnings of “Never go to a second location with a kidnapper,” are ringing in her head. 

As if reading her thoughts, the redhead shouts out, “Don’t worry, we’ll let you loose soon!”

The President gives Laura a look that clearly says, _After we’re done with you._

Laura sighs, and watches the Karnstein building get smaller and smaller below them. 

:

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Karnstein’s conscious when they land at the hospital. Laura knows this because as they start to cart her away, she reaches out and grasps Laura’s wrist. Their eyes meet for a second, and Laura tries to figure out whether Carmilla is thanking her, or trying to psyche her out, before the doctors come and wheel her away. Laura watches until the doors close behind them.

“I’m guessing you don’t want to be looked over.”

The President is standing to Laura’s right, out of her personal space, but close enough to grab her if Laura tries to make another run for it. 

Laura shrugs. “I feel fine.”

The President shifts, turning so that she’s facing her. “You ran into a building full of gas that was making people physically, violently ill.” She leans forward. “You’re lying.”

“Believe what you want, I’m fine.”

“I could call people to look you over, whether you like it or not.”

Laura gives the President a look. “But you won’t.”

The President stares, her eyes not blinking. “You’re right, I won’t. Wonder why?”

Laura doesn’t answer.

“Because I want to kick your ass, and having a doctor look you over before I do that would be a waste of time.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Laura turns, her temper rising. “That’s weird, because from what I can tell, everything worked out fine.”

“We’re standing in front of a hospital.”

“Yes, Because Karnstein isn’t dead. Because I saved her ass when your girls refused to.” Laura considers pointing a finger in the woman’s face, but wisely decides against it. She likes her pointer finger, and she would like to keep it attached to her hand. 

The President doesn’t look very phased by her outburst. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with, kid.”

“Don’t call me kid. I’m pretty sure I’m the same age as you.”

The president flips her hair back so she can rest her crossbow in the crook of her arm, looking like some sort of huntress goddess. “You understand you’re a civilian, right?” She asks, sounding bored.

Laura grits her teeth. “Yes.”

“Not only that, but you’re a civilian who lives in Silas City. And as any street savvy civilian who lives in Silas fucking City, you should know that interfering with superhero business would probably result in your death.”

Deciding to throw caution to the wind because this day cannot get any worse, Laura folds her arms over her chest and says, “But I’m still standing. What does that tell you?”

The President shurgs. “That you’re very stupid, and you got very lucky.” Laura bristles, but shuts her mouth when the President reaches out and grasps her shoulder. “Look. Over the next couple of days, everyone is going to be calling you a hero. I’m here to tell you that you’re not. It’s important that you know this, so you don’t get hurt.”

Laura jerks her shoulder away, partly out of spite, but mostly because she bruised it earlier. “I’m not stupid, and I don’t think I’m a hero. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

Behind the mask, dark eyes narrow as they scan Laura’s face. After a moment, the President leans back with a downwards tilt to their mouth. “But you do think you’re a hero. Because this is just your alter-ego, right?” Laura is shocked for a mere second before she can cover it up, but the President sees it, and smiles. “So I’m right. Who are you? The Speedster? Glam Girl?”

“Neither!” Laura hisses, glancing around to see if anyone’s listening in. 

The President huffs. “Good, ‘cause Glam Girl’s as dumb as a brick.”

_“Will you shut up?!”_

“Calm down, Nancy Drew, I’m not gonna tell anyone. You don’t even have to tell me who you are.”

Laura feels something cold settle in the pit of her stomach. If she had to put a name to the feeling, she’d call it dread, which is a surprise. Working for Capes and Masks comes with a prerequisite, requiring all employees to become numb to any feelings of dread. The President comes with her own set of prerequisites. From her condescending tones and the way she holds herself, Laura can only assume she has a major superiority complex. Or she truly is that good at being in charge. Either way, this isn’t the sort of person Laura would choose to entrust her secret identity with. The President isn’t loyal to her in any way, and would probably take the first opportunity to use this information against Laura, should it benefit her.

“What do you want?” Laura asks through her teeth, though she already knows what the answer will be.

Sure enough, the President raises her head and says in a much louder voice than Laura is comfortable with, “I want you to keep away from my Summers, and let them go about their business. You’re not needed.” She jerks her head towards the hospital doors, a sly smirk growing on her face. “It looks like you’re dealing with enough as it is, working for her highness.”

“I’ve been handling it for over a year now, that should be proof for something,” Laura argues.

The President hums thoughtfully, her attention now on some passing Summers who are helping one of the _Capes and Masks_ interns contact their loved ones. “Come back to me in another year, then we’ll talk.”

“What would we talk about? The lizard men terrorizing the sewers?” Laura feels slightly vindicated when the President’s head snaps up. “Yeah, that’s right, my team has been investigating it. We’ve found—“

“Don’t.”

Laura frowns. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t investigate.” 

“Are you kidding me?! You can’t tell me what to do!”

The President talks over her, her voice low and insistent. “Whatever team you have probably looks more like the Scooby Doo gang than an organization that’s properly equipped to handle biological experiments gone wrong. We’re handling it.”

Laura puts her hands on her hips, a classic move that does nothing to raise her intimidation. “What, like you’re handling the increase of villainous activity lately? Everyone knows there’s a pattern, it’s been like this for months! What are the Summers doing to handle that, huh?!”

“Go home, kid,” the President says. She stands tall, giving nothing away.

“No!” Laura shouts, causing several people to turn their heads. “You’re going to tell me what’s going on, and don’t pretend like you don’t—“

“Agent Dawn, please escort this young lady to safety,” the President calls out. The redheaded Summer immediately appears at Laura’s side, making it obvious she’s been watching the two of them.

Laura huffs. “Oh no, nobody gets to escort me anywhere! You have no proper authority under the Hero Protection!”

The President shrugs. “So?”

Laura sees red, and lunges forward. The redheaded Summer, Agent Dawn, grabs her elbows and holds her back. Everyone’s watching now. The nearby Summer Society agents look ready to intervene if things get too rough, while the handful of _Capes and Masks_ employees don’t look the least bit surprised at the sight of Laura Hollis arguing with another authority figure. It’s like another day at work.

Meanwhile, the President just smiles, and gives Laura a mocking little nod. “It’s been a pleasure, Ms. Hollis, but I have more important matters to attend to.”

Agent Dawn has to tighten her hold on Laura, who is now struggling with all her strength. She doesn’t have a plan for what she will do once she’s out of Agent Dawn’s grasp, but goddammit, watching the President turn and walk away sets Laura’s blood on fire. 

“Are you finished?” Agent Dawn asks.

Laura stubbornly thrashes about for five more seconds, briefly considers flipping Agent Dawn over her shoulders, before giving up and letting her arms fall to her side. “Yes,” she grumbles.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Because the last time I let you get past me, you ran into a gas filled building.” Agent Dawn pauses for affect. “Which was kinda dumb.”

Laura lets out a long sigh. “Yeah. I’ve been told.”

“Good,” the agent says. She gives Laura a pat on the shoulder, her hand lingering for a moment. “Though, personally, I thought it was brave.”

“Really?” 

“And dumb.”

“Oh.”

“Dumb and brave.”

“Can I go home now?”

Agent Dawn laughs. It sounds weird, since it’s still affected by the modifier, but Laura appreciates it all the same. It’s also a reminder that she’s standing next to the once Summer she likes, perhaps a bit too much.

Still, it’s not like there’s much time to exchange phone numbers when she’s being escorted through groups of disaster survivors. As far as Laura can tell, no one looks seriously injured. There’s plenty of coughing, which is worrisome. The gas could be damaging to the lungs, and god knows how awful that would be. Laura makes eye contact with an intern who’s barely conscious, laid out on a stretcher. She recognizes him as an acne prone college student, who’s usually too intimidated to speak. She gives him a smile, but he turns away.

“Everything will be fine. I have it on good authority that the gas was specifically engineered not to do any lasting damage,” Agent Dawn says. She’s watching Laura, and must see the distress on her face.

Laura looks up at her. “So you know who did this.”

The agent straightens. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Well, what _can_ you tell me?”

“That everyone’s going to recover. There were no losses today.”

“And what about Ms. Karnstein?”

They’ve reached a vehicle that must belong to the Summers, since it looks like a compact version of the Batmobile. It’s parked in a roundabout in front of the hospital, amongst ambulances and other Summer Society gadgets. Agent Dawn holds her thumb to the driver’s side of the car, and the door swings upwards. She answers Laura in a way that suggests she doesn’t have the time to worry about people who refuse to evacuate from gassed buildings. “From what I’ve been informed, Ms. Karnstein was showing signs of recovery during the helicopter ride. I have full faith in her return to stability within the next few days.”

Laura looks back at the hospital doors Karnstein had disappeared through. On a stretcher. How the hell did _that_ signify a return to normal?

But she merely says, “Good,” and climbs into the passenger seat of the car, because she’s tired and dirty and plans on dealing with this later.

Agent Dawn doesn’t speak to her for most of the ride. Laura asks a few questions, such as why the computer in the car is able to track her home address after simply imputing her name, and shouldn’t that be an invasion of privacy, does the government know about this?

All of these questions are answered politely, but in such a way that it’s clear the agent is being selective. 

The computer takes information that is already available to the public through Facebook and other social media sites.

This technology is safely guarded and incredibly secure.

The government knows what they need to know. In fact, it is better for the people that they only know so much.

Laura manages a laugh at the last one, which earns her a slight smile out of the agent. Given any other day, a ride through Silas in a super cool car with a super hot girl would send Laura into hysterics, but she can barely muster up any excitement after what she just went through. She has so many questions, and she highly doubts they can be answered by Agent Dawn.

When she’s dropped off in front of her apartment and ushered inside by a panicked Perry, a questioning LaF, and a crying J.P., she begins to make plans for her own brand of investigative work tonight.

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:

:

Laura has snuck out of the apartment without her friends’ knowledge only a handful of times. It’s a difficult task, especially considering her current sleeping arrangement. Despite her protests that she was fine, that the effects of the gas had worn off, that she was perfectly alright, Perry had insisted on letting her have the entire bed to herself. This means that LaF and Perry are sharing the crappy couch bed in the living room, whilst J.P. gives up all of his pillows and blankets to Laura from his own bed. Laura is practically suffocating underneath six pillows and nine blankets. 

In order to sneak out, she needs to change into her costume, get through the living room without being noticed by Perry—a notoriously light sleeper—and bypass all of J.P.’s security measures he has placed on the front door. Thanks to her senses and her flexibility training, she’s able to change into her costume without making much noise. She even manages to open the bedroom door without it creaking. 

The living room is dark, causing Laura to enhance everything she’s capable of enhancing. This quickly turns out to be a mistake, since her nose is still recovering from the gas. She dials everything back, and briefly considers trying to see Perry and LaF’s auras, before deciding that might be an invasion of privacy, since they are not conscious at this time. So, she takes her chances, and starts to silently creep through the living room.

She’s halfway to the door and feeling pretty good about herself when the TARDIS shaped lamp next to the couch flips on. 

LaFontaine is sitting in the armchair J.P. has affectionally named “Rosanne”. They’re wearing a yellow bathrobe and slippers, and their hair is a mess. They shouldn’t look intimidating, but Laura finds herself trapped by their unimpressed glare.

Laura opens her mouth to say something, but LaF taps a finger to their lips, and nods towards the sleeping form of Perry on the couch.

Laura frowns, and mouths, _“What?”_

LaFontaine, whilst maintaing eye-contact with Laura, reaches into both of their bathrobe pockets and brings out their phone and a pen. They type something on the phone, then reach over their shoulder to point the pen at the wall.

The words, _Where are you going?_ appear, as a projection.

Well, this is what Laura gets for willingly sharing a living space with geniuses. 

She shrugs, feigning nonchalance. _“Out.”_

LaF’s expression doesn’t change as they project the next word. _Lies._

It’s at this point that Laura considers running for the exit. As soon as she thinks this, several hundred beams of red light appear in the slight hallway from the living room to the front door. Security beams, no doubt hooked up to alarms.

When she looks back at LaFontaine, they raise an eyebrow. _Did you really think I didn’t know what you were going to do?_

Laura scowls, and fishes her phone out of one of the many pockets in her costume pants. She texts angrily, and sends it with a hard punch of her thumb.

LaF barely glances at their phone. _i’m just going to the hospital to check on boss_

The next word on the wall is no surprise. _Why?_

And so begins a conversation that Baby Boomers fear: One that is entirely technology based, and requires no actual talking.

_i’m fine it’s not dangerous_

_That’s not a reason why._

_i’m checking to make sure she’s ok_

_Then why sneak out?_

_because you’re overprotective!!!!!!!_

_A building, a building in which you work, was attacked today._

_and i made it out. it’s over. it’s done. the summers handled it._

_Then why are you returning to the building?_

_i’m not! i’m going to the hospital!!!_

_Lies._

Laura nearly throws her phone at LaF, but she’s too poor to pay for a new one. Instead, she glares and types, _why don’t you want me to go?! you’re being ridiculous_

LaF takes a long time to type out their reply, a full minute. A paragraph projects onto the wall. 

_I’m not controlling, I just wish you were more honest. Did it ever occur to you that we had_

_no idea where you were? That we had no contact with you until you were physically_

_delivered back to the apartment? We had to learn what was happening on the news, like normies. You’re our friend, Laura. We care about your stupid ass. We deserve more than a tired story about running into a gas filled building without backup, and being too busy being gay for your boss and the Summer Society agent to remember your friends. I think J.P. thought you were dead. Then you try to sneak out without telling us?_

Laura doesn’t know what to say, but it doesn’t matter, because another paragraph appears.

_But yeah, I want you to go. I want you go out there and scope everything out, and get_

_samples of stuff if you can. I want you to go full badass if you have to, especially if that_

_means finding the guys who did this and beating them to a pulp. That’s why I’m gonna_

_help you._

Laura perks up, hopeful.

_Under some conditions._

Her shoulders slump. Of course. 

_1\. You get on comm with me, and keep me updated throughout. I’ll be in the bakery so_

_that I don’t wake the others._

_2\. If you run into the Summer Society, get away from them. They’ll prob be on the_

_lookout for someone like you tonight, if you were telling the truth about the president._

_3\. You don’t have to tell me what you’re not telling me, but if it becomes important, you_

_gotta let me know._

_Do we have an agreement?_

Laura rolls her eyes. _if i say yes do i lose my soul?_

LaFontaine grins. _Only a little._

_fine. i agree._

LaF nods, presses a button on the projector pen, and the security beams flicker off. They give Laura a thumbs up, which she returns a bit sarcastically. 

As she climbs downstairs and exits the apartment through the back, where there’s no cameras, Laura thinks through the information she’s not sharing with LaF.

She hadn’t told them everything about saving Karnstein, such as her not wanting to be saved, and the weird hand glowing thing. Not to mention how Agent Dawn was the same redheaded Summer Society girl that Laura met before, and developed a crush on.  
“I’m a horrible liar,” she mutters to herself and she climbs a fire escape.

_“What was that?”_ LaF asks through the comm.

“Nothing.”

_“Uh-huh. Almost there?”_

“I’m climbing as fast as I can,” Laura grunts. 

_“Hurry it up. The longer I’m down here the more tempted I am to eat straight out of one of the frosting tubs.”_

“Ew.”

_“Exactly. Move it.”_

Laura jumps over the last few steps of the fire escape, pushing off the hand rails to propel herself onto the roof of the building. “Promise to save me a tub. Lemon frosting, if she has it.”

_“Yeah, but it’s sugar free.”_

Laura makes a face. “Forget it, then.” 

It takes a few seconds of stumbling around a roof in the dark before she finds the hidden compartment near the air vents. She crouches down and presses her hand to the metal surface of the trapdoors, waiting the few seconds necessary for the computer to read her heat signature. Then, with a barely perceptible beep and click, the trap doors collapse in on themselves, allowing a small platform to rise. On it, stands what looks like a dark red Vespa motorbike. Or at least what used to be a vespa forty years ago. It’s rusty, tired looking, and missing the front wheel. But Laura doesn't plan on driving it through the streets.

“It’s ready to activate,” she tells LaF.

_“Cool. I just entered the code. It should take a few seconds to warm up.”_

Laura sighs, and looks off in the direction of the Karnstein building. She can only hope that the Summers didn’t clear everything.

_“Uh, you might want to stand back a bit.”_

“Why?” Laura asks, while taking a few steps back. When LaFontaine tells you to move, you either do what they say, or lose your face.

_“The old girl’s taking too long to start up. There might be some kick-back—“_

LaF’s cut off by what sounds like a cat drowning in a mud-hole. The Vespa shudders once, twice, then emits a large amount of black smoke out of its tailpipe.

Laura turns her face away, coughing. It’s only her luck that she trades one kind of dangerous gas for another, in the same day. When the smoke clears, the Vespa is running normally, as evidenced by the fact that it’s hovering two feet above the platform.

Laura wastes no time in hopping up and climbing on. She’s got places to be, and butts to kick.

_“My screen says your vitals are good, so I’m guessing Sally Ride didn’t kill you.”_

“I thought we agreed we wouldn’t call it Sally Ride,” Laura says, pulling up her cowl and strapping on J.P.’s enforced biker helmet. 

_“Quit your whining, you just want to call it the Nimbus 2000.”_

“So we picked one nerdy name over another.”

_“Mine’s not as nerdy, because Sally Ride was an actual human person. Check and mate.”_

Laura snorts, and revs up the bike’s engine. The Vespa bounces in the air a bit, before reaching stability and boosting its jets into a strong hum. She leans forward, takes a deep breath, and lifts her legs into the metal knee-rests LaF had added, so that Laura can hold a streamline position on the motorbike. With a flick of her finger, the rockets propel her forward, shooting off into the night with a loud roar.

The communication channel is useless over the groan of the engine. It’s for this reason, among many others, that Laura doesn’t often use the rocket Vespa. The bike had been a passion project of J.P. and LaF back in college, and they worked on it steadily over the years, caring more about the possibility of flight than logical safety concerns. Back then, it had only managed to stay six inches above the ground for a few minutes, before succumbing to gravity. At least, until LaFontaine managed to get their hands on some purely concentrated Power.

Basically, a super-powered college kid with too much free time and way too much student loan debt, started selling vials of his levitating ability in liquid form. At the time, there was a superhero hate group who had somehow found a way to extract a person’s powers from their body. This kid volunteered to turn himself into the group, they took away his powers, and he started selling the vials online.

LaF hadn’t told anyone about this, but it became pretty obvious that something was up when the bike was suddenly able to soar sixty feet up in the air. On principle, Laura is against using anything that’s a product of a superhero hate group. The “organizations” have been responsible for the death of 25% of the nation’s super-powered citizens, labeling them actual terrorists. About 3/4ths of their victims are underage, and barely grasping control of their powers. To this day, Laura wishes she could find the boy who had turned himself in, just to make sure he’s safe.

Still, she agreed to use the bike, once she saw how helpful it could be in situations like this. The distance from her apartment building to the Karnstein building is a two hour walk. On flying Vespa, it’s a ten minute flight.

As she nears the building, she notices that there appears to be minimal structural damage apart from a few broken windows. The entrance doors have been blocked off by a small barricade of armored Summer Society black vans, though Laura can’t spot any movement near them. The Summers might have left, or they’re still inside the building, doing cleanup. The real question is where are all the police and news crews. There should be at least two helicopters getting shots of the top of the building, and several police cruisers with flashing lights down below.

But everything’s silent tonight. 

Laura lands on the roof of the building, and leaves the Vespa hovering a good six feet in the air. It’s installed with an alarm system and homing beacon, so if anyone tries to steal it, the alarm will be set off. If the alarm runs for more than fifteen minutes, the Vespa flies itself home.

“I’ve arrived,” Laura whispers into the mic.

_“Good,”_ LaF says. They’re eating something, and Laura can hear loud munching noises. So much for not eating Perry’s stash. _“You’re at the Karnstein building, right? Not the hospital?”_

Laura walks towards the little passageway Karnstein and her had used when they escaped. “Yeah.” She enters it, climbing down the stairs. “I want to see if there are still clues I can find.”

_“‘K. Just be on the lookout for Summers.”_

“I doubt they’re still here. They have more important things to…” Laura trails off as she opens the door to the top floor. At least eight Summer Society agents in silver hazmat suits are skulking around with what look like high-tech metal detectors. 

They don’t look too surprised to see her, though they stop what they’re doing.

One of the agents lifts a walkie-talkie, and says, “Tell the president the superhero she’s waiting for has arrived.”

Laura swallows. “Or maybe, you could not do that?”

The president’s voice sounds through the walkie-talkie. _“Which one is it?”_

The agent looks over Laura. “Uh, Red…something. The girl who’s dresses like Kim Possible.”

Laura sighs. 

“Hey, what’re you called?” The agent asks, bobbing her helmet-covered head.

There’s a long pause before Laura answers, with a dead tone. “Red Bandit.”

The surrounding agents snicker. Laura takes a private moment to envision strangling the reporter who wrote the first news article about her.

The agent holding the walkie-talkie also seems amused, as does the president once she learns Laura’s name. A solid ten seconds of laughter sounds over the walkie-talkie, before the agent holds it out for Laura. “She wants to speak with you.”

Laura, who’s still standing by the door leading to the roof, considers going home and sleeping. However, it’s soon very clear that leaving would be a stupid choice, when all the agents in the room shift to face her with slightly widened stances. 

She sighs, and moves forward to take the walkie-talkie from the agent. 

_“I’m surprised, Nancy Drew. Thought for sure you would head for the hospital”_

Laura quickly moves away from the others, pressing the device to her ear. “I don’t appreciate you broadcasting that you know my secret identity,” she hisses.

_“Yeah, well, I don’t appreciate you interrupting my agents’ work. Looks like neither of us is going to get what we want.”_

Of course, it’s at this moment that LaFontaine chooses to speak, because Laura forgot to mute her comm.

_“Hey,”_ they say. _“I’m assuming your face-to-face with that president lady right now. See if she has a grappling hook on her.”_

Laura closes her eyes, hating her life.

The president’s the next person to speak. _“I don’t have a grappling hook. But, I do have a tracking device, which I could use to find the location of wherever you’re bunkering down, speaking into a grade D42 communications system.”_

LaFontaine’s silent for a long mement, before they say, _“Understood,”_ and mute the comm.

“Can I leave now?” Laura asks.

_“That depends.”_ The president sounds much more amused than she has any right to be. _“Have you found what you’re looking for?”_

Laura glances towards Karnstein’s office, where an agent is picking through the scattered desks and chairs.

“I’m not looking for anything,” Laura lies.

The president snorts. _“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. You’re looking for a clue so you can find who did this.”_

“As I have every right to.” Laura walks over to Kirche’s desk. It’s surprisingly neat, for a desk that survived a gas attack. 

_“No, no, that’s not it. You’re looking for something else.”_

“Nope,” Laura lies again. She cranes her neck to look further into Karnstein’s office, trying to see if they’ve found the secret compartment under her desk, which had stored the scroll. “I’m not looking for anything.”

“ _Whatever. If that’s the case, I want you out of this building in five minutes. I would tell you not to bother going to work for awhile, in case of future attacks, but you won’t listen to me, and frankly, I don’t care.”_

“Feeling’s mutual,” Laura mutters. 

_“Stay away from this, Red Bandit. It’s not something you’ll want to deal with.”_

“I think I can make that choice for myself.”

_“Doubt it.”_

There’s a click, which must mean the other line was switched off. Before Laura can say anything, an agent walks by and snatches the walkie-talkie out of her hand. Everyone continues to do their jobs, ignoring her.

Really, it’s like another day at work.

She heads towards the way she came, with vague plans of heading to the hospital to check on Karnstein. At this point, she doubts she’d find anything in the Karnstein building that the Summers haven’t already cleaned through. With a tap of her finger, Laura un-mutes her comm. 

“I hate the Summer Society,” she declares, climbing the stairs to the roof.

_“Didja get scolded?”_

“Yeah. The president is on to me.”

_“Wait, as in she’s coming on to you?”_

Laura sighs, and slumps out onto the roof. The vespa is where she left it, hovering in the air with a strong humming noise. “No. She wasn’t flirting with me.” 

_“Well, you never know. I’d say she would be a better match for you than Karnstein.”_

Laura nearly trips over her own feet. “What?!”

_“You heard me,”_ LaF says, sounding smug.

Laura finds herself stuttering into the mic. “Are you kidding me?! Carmilla _Karnstein?!_ The woman who once made me stand out in the rain with her cellphone case to see if it was waterproof?!”

_“Was it?”_

“No!” Laura cries. She hauls herself up onto the bike with a bit more force than usual, sending her legs flying through the air to straddle it. “You’re mistaking my loathing with adoration. Which is pretty stupid, especially for you.” She revs up the engine.

_“Meh. I’ve been told I’m pretty observant.”_

“Oh yeah?”

_“Yeah. For example, I have a hospital report on my screen that says Karnstein was murmuring your name in her sleep last night.”_

Laura stops revving on the bike. “Wait, for real? What did she say?”

_“Nothing. That was a lie. But you were interested.”_

“Yeah, because I don’t want to be fired.”

_“Admit it. You would have sex with her.”_

Laura doesn’t answer right away, choosing instead to put on her helmet and strap it in tight.

_“Hey. Answer me.”_

She sighs. “Alright, yes, I would have sex with her, but I’d regret it afterwards.”

LaFontaine cracks up.

Laura, partly out of self-pity, and mostly out of tiredness, decides against checking on Karnstein. She's probably fine, and she would have heard something by now if the runner of the country’s biggest superhero costume industry were to die. Besides, LaF is annoying her, and she doesn’t want to deal with more of this crush bullshit. She can only take so much wasted energy in one night.

:

:

:

_Capes and Masks_ opens its doors three days after the attack. With the summer superhero convention approaching, no one has time for sick days. Not even the building.

Kirsch, for some reason, is having a hard time understanding this. He questions Laura while she hurriedly organizes next month’s schedule, which she should have done a week ago.

“It’s October. The convention is in summer,” he gripes, absently holding up a calendar for Laura to mark. “Why is everyone so stressed?”

“Everything needs to be approved several months in advance, and this gas attack put us all behind schedule,” Laura says. Or at least she tries to say, around a mouthful of pens. 

Kirsch seems to get the general gist though, and frowns. “I know we missed some phone calls, but why can’t we just tell the other companies to give us a bit of—“

Laura spits the pens out of her mouth, and into a free hand. “Because,” she snaps, “they have their own schedules to stick to, and I’m pretty sure most of them are hoping for Karnstien to fail.”

She snatches the calendar from Kirch’s hand, and replaces it with a three ring binder, which she starts to furiously search through for the list of lacework contact information. 

Kirsch still seems confused. “Why would they want Ms. Karnstein to fail?”

“It probably has something to do with Madam Karnstein starting a monopoly of the superhero costume business. She’s going to buy out companies.”

Kirsch sighs. “Is there no love in the world anymore?”

Laura snaps the binder shut. “If you find any, let me know.”

_“Hooey!”_ A shout rings out from the large office. Silence breaks over the top floor.

Laura glares at the door to Karnstein’s office. There is no way in hell that she’s going to walk in there and be berated after what happened three days ago. She respects herself too much for that.

Laura allows herself another second of believing this to be true, before shouting, “Coming!” She hands Kirsch her collection of pens, which he takes with a grimace, since most of them have been in her mouth at some point. (He needn’t worry, her immune system’s made of steel. Laura’s mouth is probably the cleanest thing in this building.) She straightens her blouse, and heads straight for Karnstein’s office.

Throwing caution to the wind, she starts talking as soon as she opens the door. “Look, if this is about the lost model binder, at this point it’s useless to keep looking for it. I’m pretty sure one of the Summer Society agents took it.”

Karnstein is standing behind her desk, dressed in a tight red dress that would capture Laura’s gay attention if it wasn’t for the sheer amount of stress coursing through her veins.

“And on that note, there are a few other items missing, which is _not my fault at all,”_ she continues, shutting the door with her hip. “My guess is, some papers got down to the lobby in the chaos, and then made it outside, and are now lost forever. I have a report of everything missing, and Janet found copies so don’t worry about that.“

“I’m not worried,” Karnstein says, her voice oddly low.

“Good, because your designers are,” Laura huffs. “I thought I saw one of them crying earlier, which isn’t unusual, but there were more silent tears than hysterical tears, so I can only assume bad things are happening—“

“Why are you here?”

That throws Laura off balance. She falters, cutting off her speech. “What?”

Karnstein is staring at her, through bangs that are looking much more fringy than artfully disheveled. She looks great in the dress and dark lipstick, but on closer inspection, everything about her seems stiff. Stressed.

Laura concentrates.

Karnstein’s aura is a pale lilac, which stretches out a good two feet from her body. She’s radiating distress.

“I said, why are you here?”

Laura blinks, and the color fades away. “Uh,” she says, suddenly unsure what’s going to happen. “Because you called me in?”

Karnstein wrinkles her nose. “That’s not what I meant,” she snaps.

There are dark circles under her eyes. Have those always been there? 

“Then what do you mean?” Laura asks. For once, she’s not being sarcastic. She genuinely wants to know.

“I was expecting your resignation letter today.”

Laura freezes. 

“It is my understanding that workplace conditions have become much too hazardous for you, as of late.”

Laura tries to say something. Anything. “Are…are you firing me?!”

“No,” Karnstein says immediately. “I’m asking why you haven’t quit.”

A manic little laugh escapes Laura’s mouth. “Because at the end of this summer, I will have worked two years!” she exclaims. “And when my two years are up, you owe me a sparkling letter of recommendation.”

She knows this. Karnstein knows this. Everyone knows this. It’s common knowledge that the one and only reason why Laura Hollis is still working for _Capes and Masks,_ is because of the two year recommendation letter protocol, set in place by Carmilla’s mother. (At the time, it was a strategy to get Carmilla’s P.A.’s to stay more than a month.) Asking Laura why she hasn’t quit is beyond dumb; it’s insane. She’s not gonna quit now, not when she’s so close to her goal.

Then Karnstein says something even weirder. “Shouldn’t your personal safety be held above whatever shitty income you earn here?”

Laura inhales deeply through her nose, counts to three, then exhales. “First of all,” she begins, “you should know how much you pay me. Second, from what I remember, you were the one suffocating.”

Karnstein sneers. “I had to prop you up!”

“I had to lay you down on the roof!” Laura fires back.

In the beat of silence that follows, Karnstein moves out from behind her desk. On her feet, are a pair of black fuzzy slippers. The sight is enough for Laura to forget her anger for a moment.

“I am trying to impress on you some level of self-preservation,” Karnstein says, with the dignity of a woman who’s not wearing a $500 dress and $2 slippers. “Coming into work today, was the stupidest decision you have ever made.”

A thought passes Laura’s mind, that every single choice she has made in her life has led her to this very place, in this very moment, to have this conversation with this woman. She doesn’t know whether to laugh or scream. 

“Look,” she says with a shrug of her shoulders. “If you want to fire me, grow a backbone and say it. I don’t have time—“

“You shouldn’t have been there when it happened.”

Laura instantly loses her train of thought. Karnstein’s staring at her, her dark eyes narrowed. She’s said something like this before, and the implications are weird.

“You sent me out to get you food, before the attack,” Laura says.

Karstein’s silent.

“Did you…know that the building was going to be gassed?”

“No.”

Laura’s anger flares. “You’re lying.”

“Why would I lie?”

That question is surprisingly hard to answer, so Laura doesn’t. She settles for glaring, at the expense of looking like an idiot.

Karnstein seems to get the message though, as her expression doesn’t change. “You have no proof that I know anything,” she says slowly, “even if I did.”

“Alright, fine,” Laura says through gritted teeth. “Regardless, you didn’t want me to be at the office that day, when the building was being gassed.”

There’s a slight pause before Karnstein nods. It’s small, nearly imperceptible, but Laura catches on. There’s something much bigger at play here, and though Carmilla Karnstein might be an egotistical, mopey, vain smart-ass, she’s proven herself to have some morals. If she did know about the gas attack ahead of time, she at least knew enough that it wasn’t deadly. According to Kirsch, the majority of _Capes and Masks_ employees had been out of the building when the gassing started, doing jobs officiated by upper-level orders. Carmilla did her best to evacuate without starting a panic.

And yet she still stayed, a fact that absolutely maddens Laura.

“I came back,” she says.

Karnstein rolls her eyes. “Yes. You did. That was dumb.”

“I came _back,”_ Laura repeats, taking a step forward, “to save your ass.”

“Again,” Karnstein says, “that was dumb.”

Laura ignores her. “I have no regrets, I stick by the choices I made that day, and I would do it again.”

She’s not lying. She can remember, quite vividly, the panic that had overtaken her mind and body when she learned Carmilla was still in the building. Laura had acted on borderline, unexplainable hysteria, but underneath it all was a determined drive. She was going to save Carmilla Karnstein, and she did.

Now here they both stand, three days later, staring each other down. Perhaps a full minute passes, before Karnstein speaks.

“I know you would.”

“What?”

“Do it again. I know you would.”

And just like that, the tension leaves Laura’s body. “Oh.”

“And now, I want to say thank you.”

_“Oh.”_

“Yes.”

Even Karstein looks surprised that she said that.

Laura’s suspicious. “I thought you were mad at me.” 

Carmilla nods. “I am, But I know that’s a useless feeling around you.”

Laura has no idea what she’s supposed to say to that.

“So allow me to thank you, and if you won’t quit, at least promise to take it easy this week. For your own sake.”

Laura swallows. “Are you…sure you’re feeling alright?”

Karnstein’s lips curl upwards, one side higher than the other, giving her a crooked grin. Laura stares, transfixed.

God, she’s gay.

“I have no more need of you today, Ms. Horace.”

Laura bobs her head out of pure habit, though she follows it up with, “Really? There’s nothing else?”

“No,” Karnstein says, moving back behind her desk. When Laura still doesn't move, she looks up.

And then, there’s a moment. 

There’s a moment where Karnstein’s gaze drifts below Laura’s face, which isn’t too unusual, but this time seems more personal. Lingering. Laura is used to being on the receiving end of sexual gazes from Carmilla Karnstein, but not ones where she takes her time. It’s not lecherous or leering, merely openly appreciative. And something about it sends shivers through Laura’s entire body.

So Laura stares back, because she’s helpless not to. She has no idea why this is happening, or what brought this on. She’s not wearing anything particularly revealing today. In fact, she looks like a mess. Her hair’s in a sloppy bun held together by a pencil and sheer force of will, her button-down shirt is wrinkly, and she has ink stains of her face. Put together, she’s nothing special.

But just looking at the way Karnstein’s looking at her, says otherwise. Her gaze lingers on the messy hair, ink stains, and wrinkled clothing, though there’s no judgement. She’s blatantly checking Laura out, and enjoying what she sees. 

Laura blushes, and Karnstein stares at that too.

Then she sits, and says, “Get out of my office.”

That should bring things back to normalcy, but Laura’s still disturbed. Maybe it’s the inflection in Karnstein’s voice, or perhaps the softening of her usual glare, but something about their relationship in this moment has shifted. Laura slowly turns and walks out of the office, unsteady. She can feel Karnstein watching her as she closes the door.

At his desk, Kirsch looks up. “How’d it go?” He asks, as sympathetic as ever.

It takes Laura a moment to process what he just said. “Um, good.”

His eyebrows jerk upwards. “Good?”

“I mean, fine.”

_“Fine?!”_

“Nothing was wrong, it’s all good and fine!” Laura snaps, and rushes to her desk. “We talked and it went well and it’s over, whatever, I have work to do.” To prove her point, she grabs her laptop and drags it forward, knocking over a cup full of pens in the process.

Kirsch is quiet, but Laura doesn’t want to look at him. She doesn’t want to see her own confusion reflected back at her. He’s not the only one. Out of the corner of her eye, Laura spies two secretaries craning their scarf covered necks to stare at her. She lets her hearing range widen a bit, so she can hear what they’re saying.

“What do you think, lover’s spat? Hate sex?”

“No, there’s no lipstick on her face.”

“She could have wiped it off, Tom. Life doesn’t operate like a trashy 80’s movie.”

Laura snaps her hearing back into place, scowling to her self. She truly does hate working here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooOOOoooo what's happening??? who's the summer society??? what is karnstein hiding??? when will they fuck??? why are these chapters updated at odd times???
> 
> most of these questions will be answered in following chapters. tell me your best guesses!


	7. Thanksgiving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE YOU GO

Three weeks have passed since _Capes and Masks_ was attacked, marking the first week of November. As per usual, the closer it gets to the Christmas season, the more stressed Laura becomes. This year is worse than most. Everyone’s busy finalizing the Christmas issue of _Capes and Masks_ magazine, and updating the website. The gas attack set the company back by a week, which equates to a year in fashion time. Laura has been put in charge of the decoration committee, whose job it is to decorate the entire lobby of the Karnstein building. She’s also overseeing the layout of the Christmas marketing campaign, which includes a staged flashmob by candy-cane dancers in Silas Square, the city’s plaza. The candy-cane dancers are from Power Dance, a specialized dance team comprised of super powered dancers, who incorporate their abilities into their routines. They usually do shows in Vegas and New York, but Madame Karnstein Senior hired them for the _Capes and Masks’_ Christmas collection launch. The dancers are all very nice people. At least, Laura thinks so. They only speak French, and their translator is out with the flu. Laura has been communicating primarily through awful hand gestures and smiling so wide she feels as though her cheeks are cracking. 

Crime rates skyrocket during the holiday season, so Laura’s started doing two patrols per day, seven days a week. A quick morning city tour on her way to work, a twelve hour work day, and a five hour city layout when she gets home. When she’s lucky, she gets five hours of sleep. 

Life’s stressful for her friends, too. LaFontaine’s pulling double shifts at their bartending job, to finance the lizard-man research. They have little to no leads so far. The lizard men haven’t made an appearance since September, and until they come out of hiding, or other animal mutations are found, they have nothing to go on but the samples Laura’s been collecting. J.P.’s busy trying, yet again, to come up with an excuse for avoiding his family during the holidays. (Laura once jokingly suggested faking his own death, and J.P. paused a bit too long before laughing.) He’s stressed out of his mind. Perry is, of course, swamped with work this time of year. She’s baking from sunrise to sunset, filling out orders until her hands begin to shake. The rest of them help when they can, but their own schedules are too hectic to offer much assistance.

Last year, Laura had spent most of the holidays with Danny, venting about her issues over a cup of hot chocolate. She hasn’t seen much of Danny recently. They last spoke a week after the gas attack, when Danny called to check on Laura. Other than that, nothing.

All of this pales in comparison to the situation Laura is facing at work.

Karnstein is acting…cordial, towards her. Nowhere near polite, but the sarcastic commentary has stopped altogether. The most noticeable change is the lack of flirting. There’re no knowing smirks when she catches Laura staring, no obvious gazes, no probing questions or jokes. In fact, Karnstein’s entire attitude towards Laura has been nothing but professional. Demanding, but professional.

Laura’s losing her sanity.

It’s strange, but she feels ignored, and not in the usual sense. Instead of the bratty “I don’t care about you” mood that Karnstein usually exudes, her behavior seems more alert. As though she’s actively avoiding doing and saying certain things. There’s moments, when Laura is standing in the meeting room, and she looks to Karnstein for instruction, only to see her shift her gaze away.

She hands Karnstein her coffee. She gets a nod in return.

She gets caught staring at Karnstein’s leather skirt. She’s given a mundane job order.

She makes a sarcastic joke. Karnstein doesn’t reply.

This is the attitude Laura would expect from any other employer. She’s being treated with respect, cordiality, and understanding. 

She’s developed a twitch in her left eye, due to the stress.

“I don’t get it,” Kirsch says, not getting it. 

Laura stabs at a baby carrot with her plastic fork. “She’s doing this on purpose. To drive me off the edge.” The carrot rolls to the other side of the plate, and Laura emits something close to a growl.

Kirsch is seated at the other end of the break room table—which is actually a broken office desk crammed into an abandoned storage closet—and is staring at her with one of his blank looks. Laura doesn’t know why. He always takes her side when it comes to Karnstein.

She decides to put a bit of effort into her explanation. “Okay, remember when I first started working here, and Karnstein didn’t notice me for two weeks?” 

Kirsch nods, though Laura can tell he doesn’t remember a thing. 

“She would walk right by me. Wouldn’t glance at me. It was weird then, it’s weirder now.”

“Why?” Kirsch asks. 

“Because she knows me, dammit!” Laura exclaims. “She yells at me! She orders me around! She’s thrown things at me!”

“I thought she tossed an apple at a trashcan and it happened to hit your head.”

_“LIES!”_ Laura cries, throwing her arms out, and knocking three baby carrots off her plate. They bounce on the floor and roll to obscurity. Laura slowly puts down her plastic fork, taking a deep breath before saying, “The way she’s ignoring me is with purpose. There’s a point.”

Kirsch stares. After a couple seconds, his eyes light up. “Oh! Okay, yeah, she probably wants you to remember something. It’s like a refresher.”

Laura frowns. “What?”

Kirsch takes a huge bite out of his burrito, sour cream dribbling down his chin. “Y’know, she’s proving a point. Helpin’ you ‘member something she told you.”

“That’s not what…” Laura starts, then remembers who she’s talking to. “Never mind,” she sighs, “you’re right. It’s probably fine.” 

Krisch nods, and swallows. “Don’t stress about it. Think of happy things. Like me. I’m thinking of something very happy right now.” He smiles, obviously wanting to share.

Laura, despite already knowing what he’s going to say, decides to indulge him. It would feel wrong not to, like refusing to pet an obnoxiously cute puppy. “What are you thinking about, Kirsch?” she asks, with only the slightest touch of sarcasm.

He leans forward, clutching his burrito to his chest. “Agent Dawn.”

“Really.”

_“Yes.”_ He sets the burrito down on the table, which is kinda a big deal. “Have you seen her?! She’s perfect!”

He starts to ramble. Laura smiles in an effort to hide her annoyance. Agent Dawn made quite the impression when she saved Kirsch during the gas attack. He’s been talking about her as much as Laura complains about Karnstein.

Which is to say, he won’t shut up about her.

Not that she blames him. Agent Dawn is stunning, and Laura’s little gay heart loves a confident woman in a bodysuit, though Kirsch might have it worse than she does. He goes on about her hair, her strength, her skills, her agility; it never stops. Laura nearly snapped at him once when he started talking about the agent’s voice, which was ridiculous, because all the Summers have the exact same voice modifier. But, she kept quite, and Kirsch got to keep his head.

Kirsch is in the middle of describing the exact blondish-red shade of Agent Dawn’s hair when Mel the IT girl walks in. “Sorry,” she says, wincing as she interrupts Kirsch. “But, I need some help?” 

Laura jumps up from her seat. “I can do that! What do you need?” She gives Kirsch what she hopes looks like an apologetic smile. 

Mel pushes her glasses up her nose with a sniff. “It’s a printer—“

“Yes I can fix that no worries.” Laura bolts from the table, nearly knocking over her chair. She gives Kirsch a wave without turning around. “See you later, duty calls!”

Mel hurries behind her as they march down the hall, moving fast. “I wasn’t interrupting anything, right?” She asks, sounding a bit self-conscious.

Laura laughs. “Not at all. Kirsch was talking about the Summer Society.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, he has a crush on the agent who saved him.” Laura knows exactly which printer is the problem printer, so she rapidly turns down the halls with no direction. She glances over her shoulder at Mel with a smile. “It’s cute, but I’m getting tired of hearing about it, you know?”

Mel stares blankly back at her, before asking, “Which agent does he like?”

“The redhead.” Laura finds the right room, tucked away at the end of the hall. “She has a few admirers.” She opens the door, giving Mel a wink.

“Really?”

“Yeah. She’s a cutie.” As soon as Laura enters the room, she winces at its aura. If a certain enclosed location is visited often enough by the same group of people who all experience relatively equal emotions, residual aura wisps can be left in their wake.

Laura tends to avoid this printing and copying room. It’s filled with tangerine frustration, bright yellow anger, and purple despair. The walls behind the machines are stained. With what, Laura has no clue. A few of the more rusty colored ones are located near the copier, which has claimed many a finger. Somehow.

“It’s this printer, right?” Laura asks. She nods towards a dark machine in the back corner. Its monitor is flashing a green light, ominously. Laura’s pretty sure it can sense her presence, she’s tangled with this beast before.

Mel, wisely, stands a good five feet away as Laura approaches the printer. She comes to a stop in front of the machine, her hands on her hips. “So,” she mutters, grinning.

“We meet again.”

The printer says nothing.

“Ready to rumble?”

The printer lets out a singular beep, which is all the warning Laura gets before a jet of black ink spurts out of god-knows-where, washing over her torso. 

Laura stares down at her now permanently stained sweater. She takes slight comfort in the fact that it’s the one J.P. tried to make her last Christmas, so the ink’s a bit of an improvement.

Still, this printer’s going to die a horrible death.

Before she can lunge for a killing blow, Mel puts a hand on Laura’s shoulder. Her eyes are wide behind her wire-framed glasses. “I think this might be a good time to remind you of damage costs.”

Laura heaves out a long sigh through her nose, before nodding. The printer’s probably more insured than she is. “Well, I guess there’s not much else I can do then. I’m sorry.”

Mel shrugs. “To be honest, I just wanted to be able to say I got someone else to look at it before I called for replacements.”

Laura can sympathize. The fashion business is constantly concerned about wasted time and expenses. Everything has to be explained, preferably in triplicate, and signed. “It must be hard to work in tech support.”

“Not as bad as you might suspect.” Mel smiles, revealing dimples. Laura’s charmed. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“It’s kinda…a personal question.”

“Sure,” Laura says, feigning ignorance. She knows exactly where this is going.

Mel glances behind her at the entrance to the printer room. She speaks in a hushed voice. “People talk a lot. Around here.”

“They sure do.” _Here we go._

“You’re mentioned a lot.”

“Really?” _Just get on with it._

“Yeah. You and Ms. Karnstein.”

There are several ways _Capes and Masks_ employees say, “Ms. Karnstein”. The interns usually stutter, and barely get the words out. Fashion designers say it quickly, with a bit of reverence if they're gay. Lower management and personal assistants—Laura and Kirsch—say it like a salute. Quick, snappy, and asking for orders. The support staff, including the IT goons, HR, file organizers, and techies, say it quietly. Secretly. They don’t want to draw her attention.

This is how Mel says it now, barely above a whisper. The look on her face is full of curiosity and fear. Laura can somewhat understand. Rumors of her sleeping with Karnstein have floated around since she was hired, and her unusual rapport with her boss does nothing to decrease them. Despite the fact that most people ignore her, Laura knows she’s kinda viewed with a strange sort of respect and envy. Karnstein is hot, powerful, and notorious for only sleeping with hot and powerful women. Laura is dorky looking, and a personal assistant. If she was actually sleeping with Karnstein, it would certainly be something to marvel at.

From her understanding of the latest rumors, people think she’s just really good with her tongue.

Laura smiles gently at Mel. “I’m sure you’ve heard a lot, but I’m gonna be honest with you. None of it’s true.”

Mel stares.

“I’m serious. Yes, Ms. Karnstein is very attractive, but we’re both professionals. Also, she hates my guts. We are not having sex, nor will we ever have sex.”

“Oh,” Mel says. Laura can’t tell if she’s disappointed or not.

Laura starts to inspect her sweater, to see if there’s any way of salvaging it. “Yeah. ‘Course, no matter how many times I tell people, rumors still circulate. I don’t mind. Kirsch and I think it’s funny.”

“But I thought she—“ Mel cuts herself off. 

Laura looks up. “What?”

The IT girl looks nervous, though Laura can sense inquisitiveness. She speaks slowly, shifting her eyes away. “From what I heard, you were worried about her when the building was attacked.”

“Yeah. Because she signs my paycheck.”

Mel raises her eyebrows.

Laura sighs. “Okay, I’m not that hearless. I was worried. But there’s nothing going on between us, trust me.”

As it happened before, Mel’s body language changes. Her spine straightens, and she holds herself with her chest puffed out a bit, assuming a strong and balanced position. Her nervous expression smooths into blankness, and she gives Laura a level stare. “You’re not lying to me?” she asks, her voice clear and powerful, despite the neutral volume.

Laura can’t help but stare for a moment before she answers. “Uh, no?”

Mel looks her over from head to toe. Laura’s quite used to being looked over in such a way by Karnstein, but instead of the warm sensation she usually feels, Mel’s stare seems cold. Unattached. Judgmental.

Once her eyes reach Laura’s face, she gives a short nod, as if she’s decided something. “That’s good to know, then. I trust you’re an honest person.”

“…Yeah.”

Mel smiles, and Laura knows it’s not genuine. She stands still as Mel leaves the room without another word. Apparently, the printer is no longer a problem that needs to be solved. Laura’s phone vibrates in her pocket, but she ignores it for a moment, in favor of thinking over whatever the hell just happened. She’s had all but three interactions with Mel the IT girl, and one of them included literally running into her. Maybe Mel has a right to be acting weird around Laura, if the later nearly avoids injuring her every time they meet. And yet, Laura can’t shake the feeling that this has all been done before.

Many times.

—.—

_—you’re not giving me answers, Hollis! You two are the reason we’re in this mess, so you’re our tickets out of here. Jesus christ if I hear another—_

_—.—_

Laura blinks her eyes wide. That was certainly Mel’s voice just then, ringing about in her head. She’d sounded angry. For a split second, Laura knows why.

But the thought leaves her head before she can get a good grip on it. She struggles to think, but it’s like recalling a memory from when she was a toddler. It’s fuzzy, more sensation than anything, but she can recall some things.

—.—

_Perry interrupts Mel before people start punching each other. “Let’s just try to consider all our options before we point fingers.”_

_Mel snarls. “There are no other options! They’re the center of the storm, and they’re destroying everything!”_

_Laura’s angry. And frustrated. And tired. So very, very tired._

_At her side, a hand grips hers. She holds onto her love, using it as an anchor, in more ways than one._

—.—

For some reason, Laura’s holding her phone up to her ear. She comes back to reality to the sound of Kirsch’s panicked voice. “Kirsch?” she asks, interrupting his spiel.

_“I know you don’t want to, but the scarfs for the photo shoot have the wrong pattern and I can’t be in two places at once!”_

With vague traces of the vision still pulsing through her mind, Laura manages a weak, “Huh?”

_“Karnstein’s office! I can’t be there while I’m looking for scarves!”_

“Did she call me in?”

_“YES!”_

“Oh.”

Kirsch groans over the phone. _“I said I’m sorry, but she sounds mad so you really need to get over there—“_

“Right. Uh, yeah, I’ll go do that.”

Laura’s mind is far away from this conversation. Why had Perry been talking to Mel? She could barely make out the details, but she knows there had been a sense of urgency to the whole situation. As far as she knows, Perry has never met Mel. Laura herself has only talked to her three times. Right?

A sudden thought crosses her mind, and Laura hurriedly acts on it. “Kirsch!”

_“What?!”_

“Can you text J.P. and ask him if Perry knows Mel?”

_“You want me to….what?”_

Laura quickly marches out of the printing room, because despite everything else going on, she can’t be late for a meeting with Karnstein. “Text J.P.! I know you have his number!”

Kirsch has met Laura roommates several times, and for some reason, him and J.P. have formed a bond that seems to be based entirely on their shared love of food. It’d be cute if they didn’t like spray-can cheese so much.

“You owe me,” Laura says, rounding a corner in the hallway. “You know how much I don’t want to talk to Karnstein right now.”

_“Fine, whatever, I’ll ask J.P. if Perry knows Marv.”_

“Mel!”

_“OKAY!”_

Kirsch hangs up, leaving Laura in a panicked mood. Which is to say, she’s on schedule for the day.

:

:

:

“What are you wearing?”

Laura freezes. She’s only just opened the door of Karnstein’s office. “Uh, a sweater?”

“It’s covered in ink.”

Laura closes her eyes. Why is this her life? Why is this her job? Just…why?

“The printer,” is all the explanation she offers.

Karnstein stares at her. She’s wearing a blue dress today, with ripped leggings, because despite being the leader of a high class fashion company, her grunge always exists in some form or another. 

It’s moments like these Laura is reminded her boss is gay.

“Can I help you with anything, Ms. Karnstein?” Laura asks, after about five seconds of silence.

Instead of answering, Karnstein turns back to her desk. Laura considers throwing something, until Carmilla opens a drawer and pulls out a black sweatshirt. She tosses it to Laura without a word.

It’s soft, and big. Big enough to cover her sweater.

Karnstein is seated, tapping at something on her laptop. She doesn’t look up when Laura stares at her.

“…Thank you? Wait, this is for me, right?”

She’s given a nod, and then a little shooing motion.

Laura bristles, her hands fisting into the fabric of the sweatshirt. “Is that it?”

Another nod. Karnstein still hasn’t looked at her.

And it’s pissing Laura off. Not the silence, the silence is fine. Silence can mean something. It’s not the sweatshirt giving, though that is fucking weird, and will be obsessed over later. The lack of eye contact is what breaks her. Karnstein is refusing to look at her for unknown reasons, and Laura can sense no anger. A dip into Karnstein’s aura shows only lime green anxiousness.

“What is going on?!” she snaps. When Karnstein still doesn’t turn her head, Laura marches up to the desk and slaps the sweatshirt down. “I did something wrong, tell me what.”

Karnstein has stopped typing, though her eyes remain on the screen. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Then why are you ignoring me?! What did I—“

“Hypocrisy. You avoided me when I failed to fire you.”

Incentivised after getting a confirmation of the general bullshit, Laura scoffs. “And now you’re avoiding me when I failed to quit! Does this have something to do with me leaving the company?!”

“No.”

“Then _what?”_

Karnstein, damn her, has started to type again. “Henny,” she says, coldness creeping into her voice, “if you honestly think I care enough about you to—“

“Don’t.”

And for some reason, that causes Karnstein to look up.

The word leaves Laura’s lips without her permission. She certainly hasn’t planned on saying it. For a split second, all she can do is stare with a facial expression mirroring that of a person who just wet themselves.

Then her anger comes back with a vengeance.. “Don’t,” Laura repeats. Before, she was loud and abrasive. Now, her rage makes itself known in a quiet, direct tone.

It’s capturing Karnstein’s attention, and that’s all that matters.

“Don’t you dare try to write me off. Not after I came back for you. Not after I risked my own life to save you.”

Karnstein blinks. Laura thinks she spies a glimmer of discomfort.

“I’m fine if you don’t want to talk about it. But don’t act like it didn’t happen, and stop treating me as if this isn’t important to me. Because it is.” Laura swallows, before adding, “All of it.”

Karnstein’s eyes widen by a tiny fraction. Her eyelashes are long, and with this angle and lighting, Laura can see small shadows flicker on Carmilla’s cheeks when she blinks. 

It’s a tiny detail Laura has yet to notice, because she’s usually not standing this close to her boss.

_I like her eyes,_ Laura’s lesbian brain thinks before she can wrestle it under control. No gay thoughts, not today. Not right now.

Karnstein saves her from this inner torment by speaking. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Well, no more gay thoughts. Because her boss is a jerk.

“I’m not being ridiculous!” Laura snaps, and it’s so loud and quick that her vision goes foggy for a moment. After nearly passing out, she decides to take a good long look at her current situation.

She’s in Karnstein’s office. Bad.

She’s surprised Karnstein. Good.

Karnstein is so far unwilling to change her attitude problem. Bad.

It’s been confirmed that Karnstein has an attitude problem, and it’s not just Laura overthinking. Good.

Karnstein looks really good in that dress. Bad.

Karnstein looks _really_ good in those ripped leggings. Bad.

Karnstein’s mouth looks— 

Oh god that’s bad.

Laura closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. She tries speaking again, quieter and softer. “I really don’t want to fight, okay?”

Karnstein makes a soft sound. Laura doesn’t open her eyes.

“Whatever I did, I’m sorry. But I’m asking you to stop. Because the Christmas season is coming up, and things are getting crazy, and it would be really great if we could work together. For once.” She takes in a tiny breath. “Of course, I work mainly for you, so if not together, maybe adjacent to each—“

“Fine.” Laura looks up. Karnstein is shutting her laptop. “This sounds fine to me.”

Surprised, Laura blurts, “Truce?”

Karnstein pauses in the middle of putting her computer in a drawer. Without looking up, she nods.

Laura watches her boss in silence, before remembering her professionalism. “Will that be all, Ms. Karnstein? Kirsch said you wanted to talk to one of us.”

Karnstein opens a binder on her desk, signs something, then closes it. “That’s no longer necessary. I was going to attempt to contact Mattie, but given present circumstances…”

She trails off, but Laura can wager a guess. If the holiday season is busy in Silas, it must be crazy in Paris. Mattie probably has her hands full.

“Alright then,” Laura says, once again eager to leave. She has no idea what the point of this meeting was, and she doubts the so-called truce will hold. Both her and Karnstein are too emotional for that. 

She turns and takes a couple steps towards the door, but Karnstein calls out to her. “Aren’t you going to change into that?”

Laura turns back around, holding up the black sweatshirt. “What, this?” Karnstein nods once. “I can just put it on out there. I’m not going to take off my sweater.”

“Why not?”

Laura blinks. “Uh, because this is big enough to cover it?”

Karstein’s gaze lowers to the giant ink stain on Laura’s stomach. “That material is cheap, the ink has obviously soaked through it. Ink has been known to stain skin and cause irritations. You need to remove the sweater.” She stands with a huff. “Besides, I’m not going to have you walking around my offices, dripping.”

Laura could protest, but if she’s being honest with herself, she’s much too tired. “Fine,” she sighs. “I’ll change in a bathroom.”

“Why not here?”

_“What?”_

“You heard me. Less people will see you walking around like a mess.”

Forget being tired, now Laura’s going to protest. She will not, under any circumstances, undress even the slightest bit of clothing, in front of Karnstein. There’s no way. 

Her boss rolls her eyes at Laura’s discomfort. “Harkle, I’ve seen thousands of naked models throughout the course of my life. It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” When Laura blushes, Karnstein sighs. “I’m not a fan of the reductionist practice of body judgement. I believe there is beauty in every person that walks this earth. Marketable beauty might be my trade, but my family’s brand has never stooped to shaming.”

On its surface, that was a nice, forward thinking statement of body positivity and goodwill. 

But Laura has yet to get past the fact that Karnstein wants her to strip in her office. Panicking, she once again considers counting the pros and cons as the seconds tick by. That line of thinking quickly proves to be useless as her lesbian brain reawakens with a roar. _You haven’t been on so much as a coffee date in a year,_ her mind screeches. _Do it now, or you’ll forever dream about it!_

So, Laura decides to remove her ink stained sweater as quickly and as robotically as possible. Don’t think about it, and get it over with. Her hands grip the hemline and start pulling. Things are going smoothly, until she makes the mistake of glancing upwards when the sweater is completely off.

Karnstein is staring, which in itself isn’t unusual, but her heated gaze has returned. It’s forceful enough to make Laura freeze in her actions. While she’s used to being the subject of such looks from her boss during her career at _Capes and Masks,_ after days of nothing but a professional demeanor, the return of anything resembling flirting is like a punch to the gut. Laura stands completely still as Karnstein’s eyes roam over her stomach, though she’s tempted to tighten her muscles a bit. Superhero work has done wonders for her abs. Karnstein certainly seems to notice, a fact that has Laura feeling warm all over. Time is sluggish as her boss’s eyes travel, lingering in certain places. Laura can practically feel it when Karnstein looks at her breasts, as the warm feeling in the pit of her gut begins to unfold. Karnstein’s hooded gaze travels further upward, grazing Laura’s collarbone, her shoulders, her neck, her face—

Laura drops both the sweatshirt and her sweater. Panicking, she scrambles to pick them both up, fumbling both as she crouches down. After an embarrassingly long time, she manages to separate the sweatshirt from the sweater and yank it over her head. Her hair’s a mess, her face is hot, and she wants to find a pillow and scream into it.

Meanwhile, Karnstein is seated again at her desk, looking over paperwork. Anyone entering the room in this moment would never assume that she had just been staring at Laura’s—

That particular line of thought is best left as is.

Laura, in her haste to escape from the room, does a weird combination of a bow and head nod and runs for the door. Karnstein doesn’t say anything. Laura spends the rest of the day determinedly not thinking about what happened. She spends that night on a rooftop on the east side of Silas, not remembering beautiful brown eyes and small promises

:

:

:

Karnstein’s attitude has greatly improved by the next two weeks. She is no longer ignoring or outright fighting with Laura. The result is that instructions are better communicated, people are less upset, and everything is running smoothly.

Also, they’re all convinced Laura’s boning her boss, sending the gossip mill running at full steam. Apparently, Karnstien has bought a private condo for their love making trysts. (Laura could certainly use that condo. Not for sex, but for her own bedroom, with a door that doesn’t creak, and a living room that doesn’t smell like LaF’s latest experiment.) Laura feels as though she can’t take a step in either direction without someone assuming something. She can’t argue with Karnstein, because people would cry “sexual tension”. She can’t play nice with Karnstein, because “favoritism” and “moving in together” and “secret relationship because she’s a PA and it would be such a _scandal_ for Madame Karnstein Senior.”

It leaves a bitter taste in Laura’s mouth, because while she can laugh the rumors off with Kirsch, she can’t deny the blatant homophobia hiding behind such statements.

Surprisingly, Karnstein brings it up. She’s in the middle of dictating notes to Laura, near the end of November. The building is throwing a mini-Thanksgiving gala that’s all about funding for the summer project. Billionaires and their wives and their mistresses will be in attendance, meaning there must be plenty of watered down alcohol to go around. 

At some point, someone else enters the room, probably a messenger from one of the lower levels. Laura doesn’t look up from her tablet. Karnstein gives an order, the person leaves, and the room falls silent.

“They think we’re having sex.”

Laura starts a bit. “What?”

Karnstein is looking at the door, a slight smile on her face. “They think the only reason I let you talk to me is because we’re having sex.”

Laura sets the tablet down in her lap. This is the first time Karnstein has ever outright acknowledged the sex rumors. In the two years Laura has been working for her, Karnstein has never once mentioned it. Of course, she’s had to have known. Laura always assumed she didn’t care enough to deal with it.

“Uh, yeah. Those have been floating for awhile now.” Deciding to test the waters for jokes, Laura smiles and asks, “Have you heard the one where I’m Mattie’s ex, and you’re banging me as a corporate move?”

“It’s because we’re gay.”

The smile falls from Laura’s face. 

Karnstein looks at her, and her smile is gone too. 

When Laura first came out to her dad, amid the mutual crying and hugging and jokes and life advice, he said he wasn’t scared for her. At the time, that had confused Laura. Her dad was scared for her literally _always._ He explained that while he knew the world was a stupid, backwards place full of hate and misunderstanding, it was also full of love. And he had no doubt Laura would find that love.

Upon entering college, Laura found gays and love all over. She found acceptance and trust within herself. She surrounded herself with people who not only accepted her, but understood her, and were willing to listen. To this day she believes in the silent bond she has with other gay strangers she meets, whether it’s sharing a brief smile at the grocery store, or an eye roll when a straight person is doing something stupid on the bus. Some days, she lives for these moments of true connection, of feeling as though she has a community that can offer aid and assistance.

She even has these moments with Karnstein. Moments like now, when something silent is being communicated, something that affects them both as gay women in the workplace.

“I know,” Laura finally says. She’s quiet, not because the subject is taboo, or because she’s nervous speaking about it, but because she knows the sort of people who might be listening just outside the office door. 

Karnstein holds eye contact for a long stretch of time, before turning back down to the notes on her lap top.

And before she knows it, Laura’s asking a question. “How do you put up with all that?” Thinking quick, she clarifies. “I mean, you must get so much…garbage. A woman in your position, as well as a gay woman.”

Karnstein doesn’t look up, but she smiles. “When you’ve been around as long as me, you learn some tricks.” She pauses. “I mean, in this business.” She types something up, her fingers pressing hard and quick onto the keys. “But I do get a lot of bullshit. It’s interesting, to say the least, when I can separate the sexism and the homophobia, and when the two collide.” Karnstein snorts. “Mattie gets it twice as bad. A black woman who runs her company better than any white man in the game, and she only sleeps with women. It drives them mad.” 

Laura nods. “What sort of things do you face?” It’s a rather personal question, but Laura knows from experience that when asked by a person who understands, it’s not abrasive.

Sure enough, Karnstein doesn’t flinch before answering. “Oh, just the usual. Everyone talks about how my mother handed me this company and building just to keep me out of trouble, despite my complete lack of experience. Which is true, I’ll admit that. But I do suspect it wouldn’t be brought up as much if I was a man.” She shrugs. “Then there’s all the tabloids about the constant cycle of women in my bed.”

“I know those.”

“I’m sure you do. But what you probably don’t know, is that I’ve never slept with a woman I wasn’t in love with.” She looks up at this, making direct eye contact with Laura. “And I don’t love any of those women in the tabloids.”

Laura blinks, and a bit of her world is turned on its axis. “But I thought—“

“It’s mostly publicity stunts. Mattie’s idea.” Karnstein turns back to her computer. “My name gets headlines, _Capes and Masks_ gets headlines. The homophobia appears in the phrasing of the headlines, how scandalous and dirty I am. Apparently, I’m a fantastic flirt.”

_Agreed,_ Laura thinks, allowing herself the one-time acknowledgment of her….thing for Karnstein. She thanks every star in the sky that LaFontaine can’t read minds. 

However, the way that Karnstein is now looking at her over her laptop screen has Laura rethinking that thankful thought. She clears her throat, a bit put-off by the hidden smirk. “Well, I for one, think you run a good company.”

“Really,” Karnstein says, her interest piqued. 

Laura nods. “I mean, sure, your methods are unorthodox and blah blah blah, but in the end you seem to know this business inside and out.”

Karnstein rolls her eyes, though for once, it doesn’t look like she’s annoyed with Laura. It’s more of a playful eye-roll, which is saying something. “It’s because I know people.”

“No, I don’t think that’s it,” Laura says, before remembering herself. Her face heats in panic.

Karnstein looks at her. “What?”

“I just meant—“ This time, Laura pauses to think about what she’s going to say. She starts slowly, carefully. “You have a very cynical view with others. Which, yes, does help you in some ways, but in the long run, that’s not the real reason behind your success. You see the bad in people, but you keep going. You don’t give up, because in the end, you care about others.” Laura smiles. “No matter your opinions on them.”

Each time that Laura has given Karnstein anything resembling a compliment in the past, Karnstein has reacted so similarly that Laura has come to expect that same reaction. She will stare, and then stare some more, and right when Laura is sweating in her shoes and screaming in her mind, Karnstein will snap at her until she flees the room. It’s the only time Laura will ever run instead of snapping back, because somehow, she always feels as though she’s proved a point. This time, Karnstein gives her a pleasant surprise.

She smiles back, full teeth and everything. So, it’s Laura’s turn to stare. It’s rare that her boss truly smiles like this, not smirking to intimidate or glaring at the press. It’s pleased and real and radiant, blowing Laura away in one simple gesture. 

She leaves her boss’s office that day, for once not feeling stressed or confused by the conversation she just had. If things continue like this, Laura might actually enjoy coming to work.

 

:

:

:

“You know, as a superhero, I don’t think stalking the elderly should be high on my to-do list.”

“Quit your whining,,” LaF says through Laura’s communicator. “You know just as well as I do that _Baron Vordenberg,”_ they say the name with an audible sneer, “doesn’t count.”

“Wait, what do you mean he doesn’t count?” J.P. asks. “According to all our sources, he’s at least eighty years—“

“I mean Laura shouldn’t feel bad about stalking him,” LaF explains, sounding more annoyed than before. They’ve had a bit of a short temper lately, due to extra bartending shifts and research nights. “He’s been linked to the deaths of over one hundred super-powered people, most of them in their twenties. Him and whoever works for him should not be shown pity.”

Laura shifts on her perch in a fire escape. She’d been joking about the stalking thing, but due to LaFontain’s tone she figures bringing that up would be a bad idea.

Besides, they’re not wrong. Baron Vordenberg is a name notorious among superheroes and anti-superheroes alike. No one has ever been able to pin anything on him in terms of linking him to his crimes. He hides behind his money, and his secret criminal network Laura has no doubt exists. The little old man has been in operation for well over a decade, during that time causing havoc and mayhem with a smug grin. He’s recognizable by his short stature, balding head, and ornate cane that he carries around with him. Although he vehemently denies it, he’s connected to several anti-superhero organizations and cults. As such, he’s basically on “Worlds Most Wanted” for any decent superhero who’s suiting up for good reasons. However, no one has been able to apprehend him yet. He’s been captured several times, but always released when handed over to proper authorities, and never harmed because no one has ever been able to find proof of his connections. There are a good number of anti-heroes and super villains who don’t care about the rules, and plan to kill him on sight. But, whoever is on his side is really good at hiding him, because he’s nearly impossible to track.

Unless your Laura Hollis, or as Silas City knows her, The Red Bandit.

The Red Bandit isn’t famous. She’s somewhat recognizable, but considered a minor superhero. No one knows that she can sense auras, and single out a person if she’s seen their aura before. She’s seen Baron Vordenberg’s aura once, during a public press conference. She had attended, looked into his aura—which was full of hatred and superiority towards the world around him—and caught onto his “scent”. She can now tell when the Baron’s in the city, but Laura’s always been too busy with other stuff to go after him.

However, when she told LaF yesterday she believed she could sense Vordenburg in the area, her friend had jumped at the opportunity.

That’s how Laura now found herself sitting in a fire escape, her head propped on one knee, staring over the skyline and wishing she had some hot cocoa with her. November nights in Silas tend to get pretty cold. The streets below Laura are empty, but she doesn’t think it has to do with the chill in the air. November 22nd is an important date for most people. LaFontaine, J.P., Perry, and Laura all grew up and attended college in Canada, so they don’t really celebrate Thanksgiving. 

“What exactly am I supposed to do if I find Vordenburg?” Laura asks. “He’ll have his security guards with him.”

“Just get close enough to him so I can get a picture of his face,” LaF grumbles. “J.P. can notify some big supers in Silas. We just gotta get proof that he’s in the city.”

Laura doesn’t reply. She’s kinda peeved that she’s essentially doing another superhero’s dirty work, which she won’t get credit for if the Baron is caught. 

Of course, that’s when she senses his aura. 

Pulling out her newly repaired grappling hook, Laura aims it for a nearby building while trying to stay focussed on Vordenburg. This time, she doesn’t dislocate her arm when she launches through the air. 

“Do you see him?!” LaFontaine asks.

“Not yet, but I’m on his tail. He’s near the Southside.”

“By the bay?”

“Yeah.”

“In that case, head for the docks,” J.P. says. “I’ve heard rumors he might be involved in some back hand shipment deals.”

“Shipment deals?” Laura swings her way over to another roof, the old Spiderman cartoon theme in the back of her mind. “What would he be shipping?”

“Hopefully something illegal,” LaF says, and Laura couldn’t agree more. She’s just as eager to lock the Baron up as anyone else, but she doesn’t have too high hopes for actually catching him.

That thought process dwindles as the Baron’s aura starts to get stronger. Laura begins to entertain the idea that she might actually get a glimpse of the man before the night is through. “Uh, guys?” She whispers into her comm. “It feels like he’s right below me.”

“Wait, really?” J.P. asks, the same time that LaFontaine demands, “Where are you?”

“I’m near the docks, by that construction sight that’s been blocking half the roads.” _And ruining my morning commute,_ Laura adds silently, glaring at the orange safety cones from a building up above.

“Do you see Vordenburg?”

Laura decides against reminding LaF that Laura has a suit camera. “No,” she says instead, scanning what’s below her. “I don’t see—wait.” There’s a car, parked in the middle of the construction site. It looks far too polished to be near all that dirt and rubble. “I might see something.”

“Then get closer!”

She nearly turns off her comm after that outburst, but she figures that would only cause more tension. Thankfully, the building has a strong looking drainage pipe, so Laura can easily climb down. As soon as her feet touch the pavement, she crouches down and skirts her way around the construction zone. These days, companies set up cameras to catch anyone who might be messing tight the building site, and Laura wants to avoid a criminal record as much as possible.

The car really is a nice one. It’s black and sleek, and if Laura cared about cars she could probably know more about who was driving it. To her surprise, the shotgun door opens. Laura quickly dives down behind a trashcan to avoid being seen.

“What’s happening?” J.P. asks, probably alarmed by the sudden movement and Laura’s uptake in heartbeat.

Laura peeks around, trying to see who’s getting out of the car. “I think I’ll be getting a view of Vordenburg any second now,” she whispers. “His aura is very strong.”

“Oh yeah? What’s he feeling?”

“Um…” Laura concentrates a bit, a few colors flashing before her eyes. “He’s impatient and angry, though mostly excited. Very excited. And—“ She’s distracted by a brilliant flash of mustard yellow, so stubborn and bright that Laura leans back from the force of it. “He’s amused.”

“Amused?!” LaF exclaims. 

“Uh, maybe he remembered a good joke?” J.P. offers.

“No, no I don’t think that’s it.” Laura leans further out, squinting through the dark to get a good look. She tenses as someone gets out, a small figure, slightly hunched. Realizing it’s the Baron, Laura nearly gasps. It’s actually him! He’s stepping out of the car, swinging his cane slightly to one side. He appears to be chuckling to himself, laughing about something, and…

And…

And he’s looking right at Laura.

Perhaps it’s the shock of this that allows someone to grab her from behind, someone strong with a cloth that smells like chemicals. Darkness consumes Laura with rapid ferocity, and she doesn’t have the strength to fight it off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all i'm very tired from work, university, volunteering, and keeping up my social life, so pls pls pls be patient with me. i'm not getting paid to write this.
> 
> that being said, whatcha think of this chapter? any theories??? HOW BOUT THAT CLIFFHANGER

**Author's Note:**

> I have a plot. I love this story. If you like it, I need you to tell me.
> 
> Trust me. I will finish this. Just trust me.
> 
> UPDATE: I edited the summary. Second chapter hopefully will come out within the next two weeks. *sweats*


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